Guilty
by imag1ne
Summary: Post IOTH Jarod and Miss Parker are about to find Margaret has a secret. JMPR
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. I have no idea who owns the Pretender, or its characters; I just know it isn't me. No infringement is intended, I'm just playing with them, so please don't sue.   
  
Guilty  
  
by imagine  
  
"Jarod?"  
  
Startled from his thoughts, the Pretender turned suddenly. She moved toward him, then hesitated, her expression melting into concern as he shifted from one foot to the other. His dark eyes dropped and his hands nervously tugged at the hem of the blue plaid work shirt, smoothing it over his jeans before looking back in her direction. The fact that he never quite met her gaze was not lost on the woman but, in two steps, she was in front of him.   
  
She took his hand and, as her fingers slid between his, he tried desperately to find his voice. Her touch was still new to him and though it was welcomed, he was unsure of himself and, regrettably, of her as well. Jarod felt like a child - timid and terrified of doing anything that might disappoint the woman in front of him.  
  
"It's time for you to go," she said, calmly moving closer, "It's not safe . ."  
  
"I don't want to leave," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can't."  
  
"Oh, Baby," she murmured, rubbing his arms, "I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could explain why all this happened, but now is not the time. The longer we're together, the more danger you're in."  
  
"How much danger are you in, if I leave you here alone? If we stay together . ."  
  
"Listen to me," she interrupted, sliding her fingers over his lips to silence him, "I promise, I'll be all right, Jarod."  
  
She kissed his cheek and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and buried his face in her neck, afraid that if he let her go, she would evaporate before his eyes. After a moment, the woman gently began stroking the length of his spine, calming him in a way no one else had ever managed.   
  
"Trust me," she whispered, "We'll be together very soon."  
  
"We're together now."  
  
They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms for a few more minutes, before she drew back far enough to look into his eyes. Pulling his left hand from where it rested on the small of her back, she perched her right hand in it so that the ring on her middle finger sparkled.   
  
"Your father gave this to me on the day you were born," she told him, "Except for when he had the setting changed, and new stones added for Kyle and Emily, I have never taken it off. It connects me to you, Jarod, like my wedding and engagement bands connect me to your father, and like the Bible you saw inside connects me to our past."  
  
He ran his thumb over the three stones and shook of his head. "It's not the same thing."  
  
"No, it's not," she agreed, "but these things give me a sense of peace and a determination I don't know I'd have otherwise." She squeezed Jarod's hand, when he looked away, "You can understand what I'm saying, can't you?"  
  
Lowering his eyes, he thought about the items he'd accumulated over the years. The photos, his father's medal and, in some warped way, even the DSA's meant the same to him as the rings meant to her. They were his encouragement to search for his family and to make them proud. Without the memorabilia, he would have lost hope years ago, so he definitely understood what the rings meant to his mother. What he didn't understand was why she seemed content to live with symbolic reminders rather than with the real thing.  
  
Jarod moved to the porch railing, skimming the secluded area and, once again, watching for anything that might disturb their time together. The past eighteen hours would always be special for him, and as much as he wanted to protect her and preserve the few memories they'd built, history and his instincts told Jarod that the Centre would find a way to sour the reunion.  
  
"I know you have questions," she told him, "but I can't answer them. Not now."  
  
Feeling her hand on his back, the Pretender turned and saw the silent plea for him to believe that she knew what was best. He was sure that his leaving was hurting her as much as it was hurting him, and though he still didn't understand why she was insisting he go alone, Jarod found he was unable to continue the discussion. With a soft sigh, he took her hand and stared at the ring.   
  
"Which stone is mine?" he asked.  
  
"The middle one."  
  
After a silent moment, running his finger over the gold setting and the yellowish brown gem, he raised his eyes to her.   
  
"This is a Topaz," he said. When she nodded, he asked, "I was born in November?"  
  
"At 3:23 am, on November 7th," she smiled.  
  
*********  
  
He tossed his coat on to the passenger seat and turned to face her. The tears he had been trying desperately to suppress were teetering at the edge of his eyes, threatening to release every emotion he was feeling. He had promised himself to abide by his mother's wishes, but the closer he came to leaving her behind, the more difficult he found it to accept.   
  
"Here," she said, retrieving a small blue cooler from the porch steps and pushing it into his hands, "in case you get hungry."  
  
"You didn't have to do this," he said, peering at the assortment of drinks, snacks and sandwiches.  
  
"Yes, I did," she smiled, straightening the collar of his shirt, "It's a mother's job to make sure her children eat properly."  
  
"Do I look like I don't eat?"   
  
"No," she admitted, patting his chest with both hands, as she stepped back, "You actually look very healthy and I want to keep it that way."  
  
Closing the cooler, Jarod slipped the container on to the floor of the car's back seat. When he faced her again, the sleeves of her sweater were pulled over her fingers and tucked tightly in her fist. Her shoulders were pushed forward slightly as she rubbed the outside of her arms with covered knuckles   
  
"The temperature is dropping. Are you going to be warm enough?" she asked.  
  
He smiled and nodded, letting her fasten the top buttons of his work shirt before bringing her hand to his lips. "I will be fine, Mom. Honest."   
  
"Are you sure? I can get you . ."  
  
"You're the one who's freezing," he grinned, "Why don't you go inside?"  
  
She shook her head. "Not until you're safely on your way."  
  
"Mom . ."  
  
"Jarod, the longer you stand here arguing with me, the colder it gets. Now," she sighed and opened her arms, "give your mother a hug and a kiss that will last ..." her voice cracked and then faded as Jarod slipped his arms around her.   
  
"I love you," he said quietly.  
  
She pulled him closer, brushing her lips against his cheek and, in an apologetic voice, told him, "I know I didn't react the way you wanted me to, when you arrived . . ."  
  
"It's all right," he nodded, hearing her voice crack, "I know you love me, too."  
  
"I do," she promised. Allowing herself to hug him briefly, once more, Margaret gently pushed her son away. "and I'm going to miss you."  
  
Tipping his head downward, she kissed him on the forehead and stepped back, telling him to be careful. Hesitating slightly, Jarod turned and pulled open the car door but found he was unable to force himself slide inside the vehicle. He stood there for a few seconds, staring blankly at the interior, his eyes filling with tears he was no longer ashamed to shed.   
  
"I can't do this," he said, facing her. "Come with me."  
  
She pulled away as he reached for her, but met his dark eyes with a shake of her head. "Jarod, we've been through this. I can't . ."  
  
"Dad and Emily are in Vancouver," he continued, ignoring her protests, "I can take you to them. In less than forty eight hours, we can be a family. We can all be together."  
  
"No," she whispered, dropping her eyes as she turned away, "I can't. It's not safe."  
  
"I can keep you safe," he promised, "I can keep us both safe."  
  
"If the Centre found out ..."  
  
"They won't."   
  
"Of course they will. They always find out and, when they do, they'll make life that much more dangerous for you and . . ."  
  
"Why do you insist on giving them the power to keep us apart?" he snapped, suddenly annoyed with her protests, "Why won't you fight for our family?"  
  
"Jarod, I'm not ..." Her words faded as quickly as the color drained from her face. She shook her head, dropping her eyes from his accusing stare for a moment before clearing her throat and trying again. "Baby, I've always tried to do the right thing. I never ... "  
  
"I'm sorry," he croaked, his mind instantly registering the hurt expression on her face. He brought her gently to his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around her shoulders and uttered a sincere, but rapid, apology. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Mom, I swear. I know you want us together and that you're only doing what you think is right."   
  
He placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on the side of her face, then bent his knees so they were eye level. "The Centre has manipulated us with threats and empty promises for far too long. They did their best to destroy our family and all I want is to put it back together. I promise that I can keep you ... us ... safe. Please, let me do this, Mom. Trust me to do this."   
  
*********  
  
After almost an hour of arguing, his mother finally agreed to the road trip and Jarod didn't waste time questioning her motives. He hoped that the idea of being a family again was too much for her to refuse but knew that, more than likely, she was just trying to appease him. In any case, he was thankful for the opportunity to spend more time with the woman and confident that he could convince her they were both safe.   
  
Glancing at the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, Jarod smiled. Life was good.  
  
Yawning, Margaret pulled herself up in the seat and stretched. "Where are we?"   
  
"We're about an hour from the State Line."  
  
"We're still in Minnesota?"  
  
"It may only measure a few inches on the map," he grinned, "but it takes several hours to cross."  
  
"What time is it?" she asked, replying to his sarcasm with a smirk and a shake of her head.  
  
"Eleven forty."  
  
"I've been sleeping for over four hours. Jarod, I told you I would take over the driving at nine o'clock. Why didn't you wake me?"  
  
"You needed the rest."  
  
"Why would you think that?"  
  
"Because you were snoring," he laughed.  
  
"First of all, I don't snore," she reprimanded lightly.  
  
"Yes, Ma'am."  
  
"And, secondly," she continued, smiling at the grin plastered across his face, "you need to sleep. You've been up since before dawn."  
  
"It's all right," he answered, "I've been functioning on little or no sleep for years."  
  
The moment the words were spoken, he regretted them. He had not meant to worry her, and hoped that she would let his unintentional comment pass. Though his eyes were trained on the road, Jarod felt his mother's heavy stare and cringed. His mind raced, searching desperately for something to say, something to divert her from her thoughts of his life; but, before he could formulate a light comment, he saw her reach for him. He waited, watching her anxiously out of the corner of his eye, but the sympathetic touch never came. Instead, her hand hovered hesitantly between them for a moment, then, with a soft murmur that she was sorry, she brought it back to her lap.  
  
"I'm all right," he whispered.  
  
She shook her head. "We failed you. When you were taken . ."  
  
"Yes, I was taken," he nodded, slipping his hand into hers. "I know you looked for me. I know you worried about me and I know you love me. What happened wasn't your fault."  
  
"Then whose was it?" she challenged.  
  
"The Centre's."  
  
Squeezing his hand, Margaret looked out the window as a tree branch blew across the road. He felt her flinch and instinctively tightened his grip.   
  
"Jarod, it's getting pretty bad out there. The roads in this area can get hazardous. How much further were you planning on going tonight?"  
  
"There was a sign about a mile back that said there is a motel, restaurant and gas station at the next exit," he said, drawing his hand back to the steering wheel, "I thought we'd stop and get an early start in the morning."  
  
She nodded, shifted in her seat and slipped into her jacket, but said nothing.  
  
Jarod smiled softly, pleased with his mother's approval but disappointed that their conversation had taken such a dark turn. He didn't want misplaced guilt to overshadow their reunion.  
  
Glancing in the mirror, his eyes lingered at the reflection a little longer than normal before shifting back to the road. No more than forty minutes before, he had taken a casual interest in a dark vehicle that appeared behind them and, now, though it had been keeping a respectable distance, it seemed the car had caught up. Still only mildly concerned by the advance, Jarod pumped his breaks, signaling the other driver that he was a little too close, and turned his eyes back on the road in front of them.  
  
They were approaching a 'slippery when wet' sign when the high beams of the car behind them were activated. The unexpected glare bounced angrily from the rear view mirror, causing the Pretender to lift his hand as a shield. After a split second, he frowned and adjusted the mirror so the light was averted, then lowered his window and signaled the driver to pass them. Instead of honoring the request, however, the driver slowed and the high beams were extinguished. Curiously, Jarod stared at the car, trying to decide if the hairs on the back of his neck were standing for a reason.   
  
"Jarod . ."  
  
"It's okay," he promised, though he continued to concentrate on the reflection.  
  
When they reached the center of the bridge, the car bolted forward, suddenly ramming Jarod's coupe violently enough to cause it to fishtail. He hit his head on the mirror, but despite the blood that began to trickle into his eyes, Jarod didn't have time to check the injury. A second impact, more powerful than the first, sent them bouncing off a cement post.   
  
Throwing the car into reverse, he backed away a few feet and then flung it into drive while spinning the steering wheel toward the center of the bridge. The headlights behind them were doused, allowing the car to use darkness as a cover, but, a quick glance over his shoulder told him the sedan was approaching at a high speed. With a hasty jerk of the wheel, Jarod swerved from its path, quickly righting the skid that followed and, though he told his mother everything was all right, Jarod was finding it difficult to believe his own words.  
  
The car skidded 90 degrees and came at them head on. Despite their attempts to distract him by flashing their lights vigorously between low and high beams, Jarod maneuvered out of their path, only to lose control a split second later on a patch of black ice. The Pretender worked feverishly, maniacally rotating the steering wheel while praying he wasn't applying too much pressure to the brakes. While he struggled for control, however, another blow from the side forced Jarod's car toward an already damaged piece of bridge. Thrust into the guard rail, the vehicle creaked and dipped forward, sending sparks and crumbling concrete into the water below.  
  
*********  
  
The water was so cold, it felt as if it were on the verge of freezing, and the shock her body felt at impact was almost enough to prevent her from exhaling and refilling her lungs before they were submerged. Luckily, the open window on the driver's side allowed her enough time to push the panic down and shift into survival mode. She knew that if Jarod had raised the window, things could have been much worse and she had every intention of taking advantage of the situation.  
  
Despite her shaking hands, she managed to release her seat belt and squirm to her son's side as the water level reached their waists. She shook him, and his head bobbed to the side revealing several ugly bruises and a deep, bleeding cut on his forehead. Pulling him back, away from the now blood stained fabric of the air bag, she unclipped his seat belt, shook him again, and then dribbled water down the side of his face while frantically calling his name. He remained unresponsive, even after the car dipped forward, and then to the side, threatening to block their only exit.  
  
Taking hold of her son under his arms, and ignoring her own injuries, Margaret attempted to push Jarod through the open window. His right leg became tangled with the seat belt, keeping him chained to the vehicle as it spun them against rocks, raising the level of water inside. She held her breath and sank below the waterline, her hands trembling as they deftly unwrapped the belt from his ankle and then shoved him upward, thankful for the weightlessness of water. With her hand still on Jarod's leg, she pushed once more against the seats, and propelled them both from the rapidly sinking vehicle.   
  
Her legs pumped vigorously toward the surface, fighting the undertow and the churning water with one arm wrapped tightly around Jarod's chest. As their heads broke through into the fresh air, she exhaled with a loud, painful gasp, quickly gulping a mixture of stormy water and air into her lungs. She coughed, tightening her grip on her son and turned her face so that the next breath contained more oxygen and less of the river.  
  
"Come on, Jarod," she murmured, holding him close as she fought the current, "We're almost there. Hang on."  
  
It took more energy than she thought she had, but Margaret finally managed to tow her son to the shore. She dragged his still unresponsive body under the bridge, settling him beneath one of the supports and pressed her ear to his chest, holding her breath as she listened to his. It was shallow and labored, but, he was breathing and she rewarded him with a kiss on the forehead. He was unconscious and shivering as badly as she was, but he was breathing. As long as he was breathing, he had a chance.  
  
*********  
  
"911. What's your emergency?"  
  
"Th-there's been an acci-accident," she stammered, pressing both hands around the phone. The wet chill she had felt coming out of the water had mixed with the frigid October air and left her with little feeling in her hands or feet. Her body heat was escaping quickly, which meant Jarod's was, too. "You ha-have to h-hurry."  
  
"Calm down, Ma'am, and tell me what happened," the voice calmly requested.  
  
"Accident," she gasped, her eyes darting behind her, toward the wooded path, "Route three bridge."  
  
"There was an accident on the Route 3 bridge?" he repeated, "Are you hurt?"  
  
She brought the phone closer to her ear and leaned against the booth for support. "S-send am-ambulance."  
  
"It's on his way," he said, "Now, tell me where you are. Were you in the accident? Are you hurt?"  
  
"J-just go to the b-bridge," she said, hanging up the phone, "Hurry."  
  
Keeping her grip on the handset, she stared at the payphone for a long moment, then let her head fall against the hard plastic shell that surrounded it. The ambulance was on its way. There was nothing more she could do, without putting him in more danger; but the image of the pale, helpless man she had left under the bridge refused to dissolve.   
  
Without lifting her head, she reached into the pocket of her jeans with a trembling hand and removed a man's billfold. Her shoulders slumped with more guilt, and though she could no longer tell the difference between her tears and the icy beads of rain that were whipping against her, Margaret heard the tiny voice of her conscience berating her for stealing from her son -- the son who might lose his life, because of her selfishness.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and pulled herself upright. In her condition, the parking lot that separated her from the motel and restaurant seemed miles long, and dotted with only a few cars. Her original plan had been to take one of the cars and to get as far away as possible, but she couldn't keep her eyes open and was shivering so badly that she could barely walk, let alone drive. Reluctantly, Margaret released the telephone from her grip, deciding to finally rely on her own shaky balance. With a firm grip on the wallet, she wrapped her sweater tightly around her chest and stumbled toward the motel.  
  
*********  
  
Eight hours later:   
  
The wind and rain worked against her as she ran from the car to the glass entrance of the building. She had not bothered with an umbrella, knowing the force of the wind would make it useless. Instead, she had relied on the long, lined leather jacket, pulled tightly around her body, to protect her from the weather. By the time she reached the doors to the building, Miss Parker was soaked.  
  
The fluorescent lights of the lobby flickered in deference to the lightening that simultaneously flashed outside, but she barely noticed. Quickly glancing around the foyer, she swiped her wet fingers through her even wetter hair and strode assuredly up to the front desk. Fishing the photo from the inside pocket of her jacket, she held it up to the male guard.   
  
"I'm looking for this man," she said, without introduction, "I think he may be here."  
  
The man stared at the photo for a moment, then motioned to a passing nurse and orderly. Miss Parker relinquished the picture and waited impatiently as the younger woman smiled at the image. Then, murmuring something to the orderly beside her, she handed the picture back to Miss Parker and introduced herself as Emma, indicating that the brunette follow her.  
  
Once in the elevator, the brunette slipped out of the jacket. Her clothes were still more than damp, but without the heavy leather against her body, she could feel the warm air flowing from the heat register and her muscles relaxed.   
  
"He hasn't been here long, how did you know where to find him?"  
  
"I read an article in the early edition of the newspaper," she answered, draping the jacket over her arm, "The description fit."  
  
With a gentle jerk, the car came to a stop on the third floor and they exited in silence. Keeping her arms crossed and buried beneath the fold of her jacket, Miss Parker easily navigated the quiet floor, matching her stride with Emma's.  
  
"So far, nine patients have been admitted as a result of the storm. Your friend is one of them."  
  
Her friend. It sounded odd, but, she supposed, that was exactly what he was. At least for the moment.  
  
"He's in here, but he's been running a fever and slipping in and out of consciousness," Emma explained as they stopped in front a room situated across from the nurses station, "so, if he doesn't recognize you at first, don't take it personally."  
  
"Wait." Miss Parker grabbed Emma's wrist, preventing the woman from reaching for the closed door. There were a multitude of questions running through her head: Was he going to be all right? When could she talk to his doctors? Had anyone else asked about him? Could he travel? Did he remember what happened? But, after a moment of hesitation, all she could manage was, "It's best if I go in alone."  
  
With a soft smile and a bob of her head, Emma took a few steps back. "I have another patient to check on," she said, "but I'll be back in a few minutes, in case either of you needs anything."  
  
Miss Parker waited until she was alone before pushing the door inward. It opened easily and the light from the hall illuminated just enough of the room to make her stomach clench. The bed was positioned parallel to the partially shaded windows, and the man's still form was silhouetted by a flash of lightening, giving a brief impression that he was draped in a shroud rather than a thin hospital blanket. She held her breath until the image passed, and then quietly crossed to his side, fearfully aware that the air was becoming thicker with each step. By the time she reached the bed, Miss Parker was holding her breath.  
  
"Oh, Jarod, I'm so sorry," she whispered.  
  
Tentatively, she brushed her fingers down the side of his face, then rested the hand on his chest. He was pale and looked much more frail than she had ever known him to be. His steady, but shallow, breaths were reassuring but, after a few moments, she drew her hand from his heart and moved from the bed. With her back to him, Miss Parker retrieved her cell phone from the pocket of her jacket and punched the appropriate speed dial. While she listened to the ringing on the other end, she spread the blinds apart with one hand and stared through the slats.  
  
"It's me," she said, as way of greeting, when the call was answered.  
  
"Miss Parker, Lyle has been looking for you. He has a lead on Jarod and . . ."  
  
"What kind of lead?"   
  
She dropped her eyes from the storm and focused on the man in bed. As if he had been waiting for her to pay attention to him, Jarod stirred, letting out a soft moan as his back arched slightly and then relaxed.  
  
"Jarod left a Milwaukee newspaper and an airline ticket receipt in his lair in San Diego. Lyle is preparing the jet ..."  
  
"Been there, done that," she sighed, lowering herself into one of the hard hospital chairs that was situated beside the bed, "Jarod is not in Milwaukee."   
  
He waited a few seconds for the woman to continue. When she was silent, Sydney dropped his voice and worriedly asked, "Where are you?"  
  
"I'm at a hospital about five hours Northwest of Minneapolis. I may actually be in North Dakota," she said, tiredly, "I'm not sure."   
  
She watched her hand find its way between the bars of the bed railing and around Jarod's hand. The unexpected touch seemed to confuse him a moment, his brow crinkling in his sleep. She waited, using her thumb to softly rub the outside of his fingers, silently urging them to close around hers.  
  
"You're at a hospital? Are you all right, Miss Parker? Has something happened?"  
  
"I'm fine Syd," she whispered, as the Pretender gripped her hand, "but, yes, there's been an accident."  
  
*********  
  
Tears and sweat were rolling down the sides of his face. His head tossed restlessly from side to side while his arms and legs pushed away the blankets that covered him. He called out twice, incoherent but urgent sounds that finally gave her the courage to attempt to console him.   
  
"Jarod," she whispered, laying her hand on his arm, "everything is all right."  
  
He whimpered, awkwardly fighting her touch by flinging a weak fist in her direction. She retaliated by taking his hand in hers and sliding her body to the top of the bed. Pulling him toward her, she held him firmly, reminding herself that it was the fever striking out, not the man.   
  
"Everything is all right," she repeated, keeping her voice low.  
  
Though Jarod's body trembled against her, and his pleading faded, she continued to hold him, rocking the man she'd known her entire life as if he were a toddler with a skinned knee. She reached across his body, bringing the blanket to his shoulders as a dim, yellowish light cascaded into the room. Startled by the glow, she turned abruptly toward the door, relaxing slightly when she identified Emma stepping across the threshold.   
  
"Bad dream," she said simply, answering the unspoken question, then turned her attention back on the man in her arms.  
  
Jarod twitched, his muscles tensing and his back arching in response to something only he saw and, immediately, Miss Parker slid one hand under the blanket. Stroking the inside of his arm softly, she promised he was safe and, after a few moments, Jarod quieted. When his breaths were even, she slowly slid him back to the pillows and rose from the bed, watching protectively until Jarod shifted into a more comfortable position.  
  
"You're good for him," a soft voice remarked.  
  
Startled, Miss Parker pulled her hand from Jarod's arm and spun toward the voice, surprised to find the nurse still standing in the doorway. Unaffected by the glare that was focused on her, Emma crossed to the far side of the bed and placed her fingers on Jarod's wrist.   
  
Lowering her eyes to the second hand of her watch, the nurse added, "Last time, it took two of us, and a sedative, to calm him, but you ..."  
  
Keeping silent count of Jarod's pulse, the nurse looked up, letting her words fade as the brunette disappeared wordlessly into the hall. 


	2. Part 2

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
part 2  
  
by imagine  
  
The constant clicking of the room's heater and the curtains that fluttered around the window were proof that warm air was being circulated, but neither her body nor her soul seemed able to thaw. She burrowed deeper under the blankets, hugging herself for warmth while images of her son, laying alone and helpless in the storm, chilled her heart.   
  
"He's all right," she told herself, "They found him and he's all right."  
  
Shortly after she arrived at the motel, the storm's intensity increased. Pockets of high winds and hail were sweeping through the area, damaging homes and businesses within a fifty mile radius. Lightening scorched the sky at regular intervals followed closely by thick vibrations of thunder. Phone lines were down, streets were flooded and the sounds of sirens seemed to rise from every direction.   
  
Pulling herself from the bed, Margaret wrapped herself in one of the blankets and moved to the window. She watched the downpour, mesmerized and slightly frightened by the force of the icy pellets as they slapped against the pane. The last time she'd seen a storm so violent was on Carthis and, as her mind floated back to the island, Margaret pulled the blankets tighter.  
  
"Please, let him be all right."  
  
*********  
  
Jarod's eyes fluttered open as the woman stepped away from the bed. He watched her note something on his chart and, when she looked up, met her smile with a confused gaze.   
  
"Hi," she said, moving to his side.  
  
"Where .. am I?" he managed, surprised at the amount of effort the three words required.  
  
"Good Samaritan Hospital."   
  
She reached for a small plastic cup and spoon on the bed stand. His brow furrowed, considering her reply as he accepted the serving of ice she offered. The chips were cool and soothing, and, when she offered another spoonful, he readily accepted.  
  
"I'm Emma," she told him, when he refused a third helping. Placing the cup and spoon back on the table, she picked up the medical chart she'd been reading earlier. "Do you know your name?"  
  
He swallowed the last of the ice and leaned back into the pillows. "Jarod."  
  
She hesitated, then asked, "What's your last name?"  
  
"I don't know," he admitted.  
  
The woman frowned and scribbled in his chart. He knew she was documenting his response, believing he had amnesia, and chastised himself for not making up a last name. If the hospital thought his injuries were more severe than they really were, they would detain him longer and something told Jarod he needed to be somewhere else.   
  
Glancing around the room, he listened patiently while she explained the IV that snaked its way into the vein in his left hand was just a means to bring down his fever and nothing to worry about. Jarod stared at the tube invading his body, a little longer than necessary, wondering if it was the cause for his exhaustion.  
  
"The doctor on duty also prescribed pain medication, if you need it," Emma told him.  
  
Looking up, he shook his head at the offer. The last thing he needed was more drugs.  
  
With a slight nod, Emma removed a thermometer from the pocket of her uniform, and quickly slipped it under his tongue. He remained still, mindlessly studying an imaginary spot on the wall until the device was removed.  
  
"100.8," she sighed, returning the thermometer to her pocket, "It's not great, but it's the closest to normal it's been since you were brought in."  
  
Bringing his hand over his mouth, Jarod stifled a yawn and asked, "When was that?"   
  
"Last night, around midnight," she answered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "Do you remember how you got here, Jarod?"  
  
"By ambulance, I would assume."  
  
"Not exactly the answer I was looking for," she smiled, raising her right eyebrow, "Care to try again?"  
  
When her patient disappointedly turned his attention on the blinds that blocked his view of the storm, Emma slipped from the bed. She watched him absently study the dingy vinyl slats being illuminated by the lightening, then quietly stepped back, into the shadows of the room, whispering that it was okay.  
  
  
  
"It was raining," he said, hesitantly, as her hand reached for the door, "I was driving."  
  
Moving back to his side, a small, expectant smile emerged on her face though Jarod did not see it. "Anything else?"  
  
He was suddenly aware that there was a blank space where the rest of the memory should be so, keeping his back to her, Jarod shook his head. Admitting that there was a piece of his recent past that was a mystery to him frightened him more than admitting he didn't know his last name and Jarod refused to let her see his fear. A few seconds later, however, he turned abruptly toward the nurse, his eyes widening while he desperately searched her face.   
  
"Did I .. did I hurt anyone?"  
  
"No," she promised, patting his hand, "The only one who got hurt was you, but you're going to be fine."  
  
Jarod nodded slightly and was about to turn away again, when the door opened. His eyes slowly narrowed in suspicion as they fell upon his visitor and, more out of habit than anxiety, his body stiffened, making the muscles in his jaw so taut he was barely able to speak her name.   
  
"Parker."  
  
"Well, it's about time you decided to join the living." she remarked in an equally tight voice. The relief that had washed over her, when she found him alert, disappeared the second she read his body language. Instinctively, she became defensive, and, as a result, her tone was icier than she intended. She motioned for the nurse to leave then stepped to the bed and stared at him.   
  
"How are you feeling?"  
  
"I'm not a candidate for the Renewal Wing, if that's what you're thinking," he growled, "How did you find me?"   
  
"You left a trail a blind man could follow."  
  
"Funny, that never worked to your advantage before."  
  
Though her eyes weren't quite comforting, they were less antagonistic than he expected, and the longer they were locked on his, the more uncomfortable he felt. Finally, Jarod awkwardly shifted his attention from Parker to the window.   
  
"I'm not going back with you," he informed her.  
  
"In case you missed it, Jarod, I'm in the driver's seat. You're just along for the ride."  
  
A crack of thunder interrupted the Pretender's barbed retort and he pulled back, instinctively shielding his eyes with his arm just as a flash of lightening filled the room. Simultaneously, the lights dimmed and, somewhere outside, a car alarm mixed with an ambulance siren. It was a woman's screams of terror echoing from the hall, however, that made Jarod bolt upright and caused his breath to quicken. He looked down to find his hands were shaking then flinched and looked up, wide eyed, when Parker rested her hand on his shoulder.   
  
"Is she all right?" he gasped.  
  
"Who?"  
  
  
  
"My mother," he whispered, "I heard her scream. I heard my mother scream."  
  
Lightening flashed again and, as his eyes adjusted, Jarod attributed her softening features to a trick of the light. When Miss Parker sat beside him on the bed, her hand sliding gently from his shoulder to his wrist, his own mask of defiance gave way to frustration and, finally, confusion.  
  
"No," she replied in a quiet voice, "It wasn't your mother, Jarod. You heard a patient down the hall scream. The storm . ."  
  
"My mother was in the car, Parker. She was next to me when we went over the bridge." Despite the firmness of his gaze, his voice deteriorated with each word, and Jarod found he did not have the will to fight to keep it strong. "I heard her scream. I heard her scream my name."  
  
Though Miss Parker saw the pain in his eyes, a moment before he turned his head, she stood and moved away from the bed. Ignoring everything inside of her that screamed she should be doing just the opposite, she crossed the room and leaned against the tiny windowsill, gripping it tightly with both hands.  
  
"She was next to me when we went over the bridge," he repeated, "I didn't imagine her."  
  
"Jarod . ."  
  
"I was taking her to my father. We were finally going to be a family," he whispered, dropping his eyes, "We'd only been driving a few hours and I wanted to keep moving, but, because of the rain, I decided to stop for the night. We were half way across the bridge when someone hit us from behind."   
  
Tilting his head to one side, his attention shifted to the section of sheet that covered his legs and Jarod's mind showed him the accident as clearly as if it were being projected on to the linen.   
  
"I told her everything was all right. I thought that if I got to the exit ramp, I could get her someplace safe but, before I could get us off the bridge, they hit us again and . ." Jarod's words faded and he looked up at her, his eyes suddenly hardening. "It was a Centre car, wasn't it? It was a Centre car that ran me off the road."  
  
"The Centre wants you alive," she countered, not bothering to directly deny the accusation. Though she had no knowledge of another team pursuing him, it wouldn't surprise her. Pushing herself away from the window, she took two steps toward him. "If it was them, you wouldn't be here right now and you know it."  
  
"I would if I was too injured for them to move, or if someone interrupted them, or if they wanted to control me on the outside," he declared, his voice gaining strength from the accusation, "What better way to ensure my cooperation than by kidnapping my mother? Tell me, Parker, were you sent here to be my baby-sitter?"  
  
"I'm going to get the nurse. Your fever must have fried your brain because you're not making any sense. What possible reason could the Centre have for leaving you on the outside, and taking your mother away?"  
  
"I don't know," he admitted, harshly, "but we both know they don't want me to be with her, don't we?"  
  
"You've lost your mind," she muttered, reaching for the door.  
  
"Wouldn't that be a kick in the ass?" he laughed humorlessly, "After all this time, it would serve them right if I did just that, but we both know the truth, don't we? We know they're capable of doing this, Parker."   
  
"Capable, yes," she snapped, releasing the handle and pivoting toward him, "but, what you're suggesting isn't logical, Jarod. Their priority is to bring *you* back, not your mother."  
  
"Priorities change," he growled, sinking back against the pillows. Keeping his eyes on her, he watched the woman return to his side then, after releasing a deep breath, Jarod softly said, "Tell them they win."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Tell them I'll do whatever they want but . ."  
  
"Jarod, listen to what you're saying."  
  
"I promised I would keep her safe," he continued, talking over her interruption in an eerily calm voice, "Tell them that if they hurt my mother, I'll destroy them, one at a time."  
  
*********  
  
In the two hours since his conversation with Miss Parker, the psychiatrist had managed to do a multitude of tasks, including retrieving a substantial amount of cash, false identification, and credit cards from a safety deposit box he kept in Wilmington.  
  
After Jarod's escape, almost seven years prior, Sydney began preparations for leaving the Centre, telling himself he would drop out of sight when he was confident his protege was safe. Though that day had not yet arrived, he had made a point of using the identification and credit cards a handful of times over the years, to ensure their effectiveness. In addition, they added to the history he created for Sydney Higgins that included a mortgage for a two bedroom townhouse in Chicago and a timeshare with the Marriott on Hilton Head. Some day, he hoped to use them both.   
  
With Broots' help, he fabricated a clue that put Jarod at a medical conference in San Francisco, contradicting Lyle's lead that put the Pretender in Milwaukee. Confident in his own information, Parker's twin had no recourse but to allow the psychiatrist and computer technician to investigate the California sighting on their own.   
  
Using the phony credentials, he booked the first flight to Minneapolis as well as a luxury rental car while Broots cared for establishing the trail to San Francisco. If things went according to plan, he calculated his time of arrival at Good Samaritan Hospital, and Jarod's side, shortly before three o'clock. Once he had a chance to personally examine his protege, Sydney would decide on the next step of his plan to protect Jarod.  
  
Letting his magazine drop to his lap, Sydney shifted in the seat and stared out at the darkness, hoping he had done everything necessary to cover his trail. He needed to concentrate on Jarod.  
  
*********  
  
"Tell me what you know about Jarod's accident," Miss Parker said, motioning toward the bench that sat outside Jarod's room.  
  
Emma took a seat beside the brunette, and shook her head. "I don't know much," she admitted, "I wasn't here when he was brought in, but, from what I understand, his car went through the guard rail on the Route 3 bridge. When the paramedics found him, he was unconscious, suffering from exposure and loss of blood."  
  
"Was there anyone with him?"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Who called 911?"  
  
She shrugged. "A passerby, I suppose."  
  
"What about the car? Did they find anything inside?"  
  
"I know a few things floated to the bank .. a small cooler, a pair of sunglasses .. the police brought them in early this morning; but the car hasn't been recovered yet. They have to wait until the storm dies down a bit before they can send divers, or pull the car up. There were skid marks on the bridge so they think Jarod was intentionally forced off the road. As soon as they're aware he's awake, they'll probably send someone to question him."  
  
"Did he have anything with him, when they brought him in?"  
  
"Just the clothes on his back and, trust me, that wasn't saying much. He was wearing a long sleeved T-shirt under a wool work shirt, jeans and boots."  
  
"No coat? No gloves?"  
  
"Not his, anyway. The police think his coat and ID are probably still in the car," she explained, "but they found a jacket draped over him. It was just as wet as he was, and much too small to offer any real protection, but it probably made the difference between life and death. No one has been able to figure out who it belongs to."  
  
"Where is it?"  
  
Emma shrugged and pointed toward Jarod's room. "In the closet, I suppose, with his clothes."  
  
Miss Parker glanced over her shoulder toward the closed door, then turned her attention back on the nurse. "They searched and found nothing else? Nothing to explain where the coat came from?"  
  
Emma shook her head. "Most people are just assuming that whoever dialed 911 covered him."  
  
Anxiously, Miss Parker rose from her seat and began pacing, shaking her head as her hand moved to the back of her neck. After a few passes in front of the nurse, she stopped and faced the woman with a blank stare. Her mind was struggling to put the fragments of information in some logical sequence, but it seemed she was missing too many pieces.  
  
"Jarod thinks his mother may have been in the car with him," she said, more for her own benefit than for the nurse's.  
  
"His mother?" Emma repeated, "That can't be. What kind of a mother would leave their child in that condition? He could have died."  
  
"Is there a public phone near the bridge?"  
  
"Not that I know of."  
  
"If she had a cell phone with her, it probably wasn't working, either because of the storm or the accident," she continued, pacing in front of the bench, "She might have had no choice but to leave to find help. It's possible that the coat they found belonged to her."  
  
"If that's the case, why hasn't she turned up here, looking for him? Do you think she's been hurt? We should tell the authorities. If she's out there somewhere, they need to be looking for her."   
  
"Possibly," Miss Parker sighed, stopping in front of the woman, "or, maybe Jarod was hallucinating and she was never in the car. Maybe someone else covered him and called 911. Hell, I don't know! There are all kinds of possibilities," she spat, suddenly pacing again, "Maybe Margaret was found and taken to another hospital or maybe she never made it to shore or . ."  
  
"NO!"  
  
Startled by the deep voice, Miss Parker turned and Emma rose from the bench. With barely enough strength to keep himself upright, Jarod was leaning heavily against the frame, his body keeping the door from closing and his dark eyes trained accusingly on his childhood friend.   
  
"She's not .. she's not .. dead," he hissed in a trembling voice. "My mother is still alive."  
  
Instinctively, the women reached for the Pretender as he slid toward the floor, hesitating only when he angrily waved them away. With his hands still gripping the door frame, Jarod rolled forward, letting his forehead and knees rest against it as well.   
  
"She can't be dead, Parker," he whispered, looking into her blue eyes as she knelt beside him, "She can't be."  
  
"Calm down," she replied, softly wiping his cheek with her thumb, "We don't know everything that happened. Your mother might be fine. She might be looking for you."  
  
"Don't do that," he murmured, shaking his head sadly as he lowered it to his knees again, "Don't patronize me. I heard what you said. You think . ."  
  
Sliding her hand under his chin, she took hold of it and turned him to face her. Jarod flinched and fell silent when their eyes met, but did not pull away and Miss Parker congratulated herself. She needed him not to question her.   
  
"You've been through a lot and your mind is mush right now," she told him firmly, "so I'm going to cut you some slack; but, for the record, I have never ... ever ... patronized anyone, let alone you. If I tell you I think there's a chance your mother is still alive, you don't have the right to doubt me, is that understood? I will find her, Jarod. One way, or another, I'll find her."   
  
For a few seconds, he didn't move but continued staring at her with a blank expression. Just as she was beginning to feel unnerved, though, Jarod turned away. Slowly, the muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled with tension as he tried to use the door frame to pull himself to his feet. Automatically, Miss Parker slipped her body beneath one arm while Emma did the same with the other, each woman glancing at the other in surprise when Jarod did not resist.   
  
After positioning him safely on the mattress, Emma quickly took his pulse and temperature, frowning at the results of each before reattaching the IV and telling him he needed to rest. The man curled on the bed and, when Jarod closed his eyes and rolled away, turning his back on them, Miss Parker knew it wasn't because he wanted to sleep.   
  
Telling the nurse to leave them alone, the brunette slid on to the bed and placed her hand on Jarod's shoulder. He lifted his head slightly at the touch, then let it fall back to the pillow without a word.  
  
"Sydney is on his way," she said, pulling her hand back to her lap, "He's better at these kinds of things than I am. You'll feel better after you've talked to him."  
  
"I don't need Sydney," Jarod murmured, his voice slurring and becoming more childlike as the medication entered his blood stream, "I need my mother."  
  
*********  
  
TBC 


	3. Part 3

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
Part 3  
  
by imagine  
  
Sitting at the edge of the mattress, Miss Parker kept her arms folded loosely across her chest, watching the man long after he fell into a deep, drug induced sleep. The sedative worked quickly and the peaceful rhythm that it brought to his breath was so hypnotic in the darkening room that she found herself almost as relaxed as Jarod.   
  
She studied the lines around his eyes, and the shadows on his cheek and jaw, reminding herself that she was staring at the worn face of an injured man well into his forties; but, even as she did so, a picture of the boy he had once been formed in her mind. Strong, intelligent and inquisitive beyond belief, he managed to keep his insecurities to himself for years before she stumbled upon his secret.  
  
She remembered standing in the shadows outside one of the sim rooms while he worked, waiting patiently for the right moment to interrupt when he suddenly became quiet. Curious, she peered into the room and watched as he raised his eyes from the books open in front of him to where Sydney stood at the end of the table. She heard his voice, soft and sad, asking why his parents did not visit and what he had done to make them send him away.   
  
"Don't they love me, Sydney?"  
  
She saw his wide eyes follow his mentor's movements across the room, silently pleading for an answer, explanation or reassurance; and, she felt his confusion when the psychiatrist told him to concentrate on his assignment.  
  
Miss Parker sighed. She had been warned, repeatedly, that there were limits as to what she could tell Jarod; he was, after all, meant to be kept sheltered from outside influences. But, at that moment, she made the decision that he was entitled to more. She couldn't tell him the things he was desperate to know, because she wasn't privy to the information herself; but, she became the person who introduced the Pretender to Cracker Jack and practical jokes, explained the gravity of a double-dog-dare and made him understand the significance of a cross-your-heart-promise.   
  
In return, Jarod crawled through vents, balanced on cat-walks and accompanied her on the exploration of every dark corner of the Centre they could gain access to, simply because she had asked. He never denied her anything that was in his power to provide, and she never demanded he do anything she wasn't willing to do herself. As children, they were inseparable and loyal to each other, first, last and always.   
  
Now, after almost seven years of chasing him across the country, interviewing the people he befriended, and falling victim to his infantile and, sometimes, cruel pranks, she had developed an ulcer. Her nights were filled, too many times, with tumblers of scotch, a few cherished but bitter memories and late night telephone calls designed to taunt and make her question everything she had ever believed.   
  
There was a piece of her soul that, guiltily, wanted him under lock and key, unable to affect her life any more than he already had. Her senses, however, were warped by memories of him as a child, and the warm fondness and protectiveness she was confident they had felt for one another in another life. Admittedly, things had changed so much between them, there were times when she wasn't sure her memories were real; but, real or not, they were the only reason she didn't take full advantage of his condition and drag Jarod back to Delaware.  
  
She had no idea how long she stared at him, contemplating their history, but, when she finally turned away, the room had filled with heavy shadows.   
  
"Where the hell are you, Syd?" she hissed, glancing at her watch, "I can't hang around here forever."  
  
Wiping her eyes, she slid from the bed and crossed to the small closet. Jarod's jeans and shirts hung awkwardly from metal hangars in the center of the metal bar but her attention was on the bright yellow thermal jacket that hung from a hook on the back wall. Taking it in her hands, she held it out at arms length and shook her head. As Emma had promised, the garment was obviously too small to belong to Jarod and, Miss Parker decided, probably hadn't even covered his chest.   
  
Shooting a quick look at the Pretender, she lowered herself to a nearby chair and drew the jacket on to her lap, slipping her hand into the folds of its fabric. The two outer pockets held nothing but a dollar twenty three in change, a pair of black women's knit gloves and a torn Hershey's candy wrapper. The inside breast pocket, however, contained a silver horseshoe style key chain and, as she turned it over in her hand, Miss Parker carefully fingered the three keys that dangled from the middle.  
  
"Miss Parker?"  
  
Sliding the keys into her pants pocket, she turned toward the voice as Emma stepped into the room. "What is it?"  
  
"Well," she glanced nervously over her shoulder and closed the door, her eyes darting between Jarod and the brunette, "there's someone here, asking about Jarod. I thought you should . ."  
  
Before the nurse could finish the sentence, Miss Parker was on her feet. Leaving the jacket draped over the seat of her chair, she moved quickly toward the door and stepped in front of the woman. With her hands gripping both the door and its frame, she peered into the hall, and released a heavy sigh.  
  
"It's about time you showed up," she snapped, moving into the hall, "You were supposed to be here hours ago."  
  
"The flights were delayed due to the storms, Miss Parker," he answered calmly, pivoting from the desk, "I got here as quickly as I could. Is this Jarod's room?"  
  
Without waiting for a response, Sydney moved past the two women and crossed to where Jarod was sleeping. "Nurse, bring me this man's chart immediately."  
  
"Excuse me?" Emma glanced between the man and Miss Parker, "Who the hell . .?"  
  
"Emma, this is Sydney," she said, noticing the confusion on the nurse's face, "He's a friend of Jarod's, as well as his ...."  
  
"Doctor," the man finished curtly, "My name is Dr. Sydney Higgins. I'm on staff at the University of Chicago, if you want to verify my credentials; but, in the meantime, I must insist you bring me his chart."  
  
Miss Parker nodded slightly, confirming the half lie for Emma, and waited for the nurse to leave before approaching the bed.   
  
"Higgins? The University of Chicago? Where did that come from?" she asked, as the man waved the beam of a small flashlight in Jarod's unseeing eyes.  
  
"Jarod isn't the only one capable of creating a new identity, Miss Parker."  
  
The door opened, announcing Emma's presence and immediately stalling the conversation. Sensing the tension, she held the file tightly against her chest and glanced between Jarod's visitors. "Is everything all right?"  
  
"Everything is status quo," Miss Parker replied, shooting the nurse a quick smile then training her gaze evenly on the psychiatrist as he was handed Jarod's chart. "You'll have to forgive the doctor, Emma. Syd's just not quite himself today. He's usually much more congenial."  
  
With a nervous bob of her head, the younger woman disappeared into the hall.  
  
"Now, there's a first," she snapped, moving away from the bed, "Someone is actually intimidated by you."  
  
When Sydney did not respond, Miss Parker absently crossed to where the jacket was still laying on the chair and returned it to the closet. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the older man peruse Jarod's chart, analyzing and filing the information in a section of his mind reserved for such data. When he sighed and placed the file in its place at the end of the bed, Miss Parker finally faced him.  
  
"Satisfied?"  
  
"Judging by the sedative he was given, Jarod will not wake up for a few more hours," he said, slipping out of his heavy coat.  
  
Miss Parker nodded. "Just make sure you're with him when he does."  
  
"I will," he promised, "but I need to know why he was given such a high dosage. The notes indicate he became overly excited, but not what brought it on. I need to talk to the doctor on duty and . ."  
  
Grabbing the man by the arm, she pulled him away from the door and, in a calm voice, explained, "Jarod thinks the Centre is responsible for his accident. He says his mother was in the car with him, and that they took her."  
  
Sydney straightened his stance and stared at the woman. "Is that possible?"  
  
"I honestly don't know, but, I promised him that I'd find her, one way or another," she answered, slipping into her own jacket. "I'm going to search the area they found him. With any luck, I'll know something soon but I don't know if it will be good news or not. That's why it's important you stay with him," she said, "He's going to need you, Syd, if I can't . . . if she's . . ." she sighed and shook her head, "Just take care of him."  
  
Before the psychiatrist could respond, Miss Parker had disappeared into the hall. Shaking his head sadly, he moved to the head of the bed and gently wiped the sweat from Jarod's brow. The Pretender shifted on the bed and murmured something incoherent in response.  
  
The small clock on the bed told him it was almost seven in the evening but, the cloud cover made it seem much later. Though the storm had subsided to a light shower, the weather report warned that the rain would soon deteriorate into a heavy snowfall and the slick roads would soon become sheathed in ice. He thought of Parker and hoped she returned before the warnings became reality.  
  
*********  
  
Memories she had safely tucked away surfaced in powerful waves, flooding her with echoes of conversations, mistakes, prayers and dreams that had alternately comforted and threatened her for four decades. Though they didn't always come to her in chronological order, she relived everything from the Jarod's first day of school to the panic-ridden moment she'd realized he was missing to the confusing, yet joyous, moment when he stepped through her front door. His smiling face melted into Kyle's, both as the child she'd watched recite bedtime prayers, and as the man she'd only seen photos of, which was followed quickly by the desperation she'd felt when he was taken and the grief that enveloped her when she found his grave.   
  
Her emotions ran the gamut between self condemnation to consolation to renewed confidence, and then back again, while her body suffered the after affects of the accident. The pain in her shoulders and ribs, the throbbing of her head and the chills that were symptomatic of her fever all added to Margaret's discomfort. For almost six hours, she alternated swallowing liberal doses of the aspirin and ibuprofen that had been provided by the motel manager, determined to resist the temptation to allow the pain to overtake her. She needed to keep moving.  
  
Slowly drawing herself out of the chair beside the window, she wiped her face with both hands and took a deep breath as she crossed to the bathroom. Determined to drown the feelings of inadequacy that were surging inside of her, she splashed cold water on her face and then retreated back into the larger room without glancing at her reflection. Years ago she had promised to do whatever was necessary to protect her family and, though she had been younger and stronger when the vow was made, she was no less determined to see it through.   
  
She dressed quickly, ignoring the dampness of her sweater and shoes, while her mind considered her next move. By now, all her belongings, still trapped in the trunk of the car, were floating in the same ice cold water that had tried to kill her and her son. Her clothes, reference materials and laptop were no doubt destroyed and, when they were finally recovered, she was sure the local authorities would present them to Jarod, despite their uselessness.   
  
There were two objects, however, that she had taken steps to protect. Hidden inside the heavy, metal box that had provided sanctuary for years, were the scrolls and her Bible. It was important that she be the one to pull them from the wreckage. Jarod's future and her sanity depended on it.  
  
*********  
  
The spot Jarod had been found had nothing to offer. After almost an hour of exploring the area, Miss Parker started back up the incline, purposely making her own path rather than following the one of trampled and slick grass that had been made by the emergency crews. On her way out of the hospital, Emma had informed her that the crews would be back to haul the car and its contents from the river. Miss Parker had no intention of being found, in the middle of her own investigation, when they appeared. If there was one thing that had been drilled into her head from the beginning, it was that the local authorities and Centre personnel should never cross paths. Thomas' death was proof of that fact.  
  
Half way up the hill, though, she turned and crouched under the bridge, staring down at the accident site through eyes that were heavy with fatigue, frustration and disappointment. She told herself that, if there had been some indication of Margaret's fate, it was lost among the muddy footprints of the paramedics or washed away by the rising river and rain but a little voice inside her head told her to keep looking. Damn.   
  
She stayed there, holding her hair away from her face with one hand and directing the beam of her flashlight across the churning water with the other. Lightening flashed, though not as brightly as it had earlier, and thunder rumbled as light rain echoed off the bridge above her, but she barely noticed. Her gaze was alternating between the creased bumper that protruded periodically through the rocks and high waves that surrounded it, and the spot where Jarod had been found.   
  
In her minds eye, she saw the terror on Jarod's face as the car plummeted over the edge and instinctively turned away from the sight. She heard his mother scream and fell backwards as she her own body reacted to the imagined sensation of the car connecting with the turbulent water. Laying in the mud, Miss Parker pulled herself into a semi-fetal position and buried her head in her hands, rocking back and forth for a few moments before slowly sitting up. Though it had been involuntary, and she had no idea how or why it happened, Miss Parker had seen Jarod suffer through enough of them, as a child, to understand that what she just experienced had been a simulation.  
  
"So, what happened next?" she murmured, letting her eyes rest on the car, "How do I find out what happened next?"  
  
With a shake of her head, she rose to her feet and was only a few yards from the mouth of the path when she stopped and looked back. On an impulse, she scooted back to the shore and moved away from the site the paramedics had trampled. Her flashlight skimmed the rocks along the bank while she glanced critically over her shoulder at the bridge and at the river.  
  
Judging her distance from the wreckage and, in turn, its distance from where Jarod had been found, she continued further from them both. Finally, after traveling about 400 yards, something beside a large rock glistened in the beam of her light. As she crouched over the spot, a bolt of lightening seared the now rainless sky and the object glimmered again. Using her fingers, Miss Parker dug the item out of the mud and, turning it over in her hand, wiped the edges with her thumb before pocketing the ring and starting up the slight incline.  
  
*********  
  
"Sydney?"  
  
The voice was weak, and unsure, but the psychiatrist reacted as if it had boomed through a megaphone. In an instant, he was at Jarod's side, smiling down at the confused man.  
  
"What . .? Why are you here?"  
  
"Miss Parker called me," he replied, lowering himself to the mattress. "Now, relax. The sedative . ."  
  
"You shouldn't be here. She shouldn't have called." Jarod turned his head away and tried to pull himself to a sitting position. His hand slipped on the sheets, and the muscles in his arms buckled, causing him to fall unwillingly, back to the pillow. "They'll find out."  
  
"Jarod, relax, no one knows I'm here," Sydney promised, his tone becoming more solicitous as he watched the younger man flail in the bed linens that twisted around his body. "Now, take a deep breath and tell me what's wrong. Does something hurt? How do you feel?"  
  
"How do I feel?" he growled. His mood shifted abruptly from one of helpless confusion to one of anger and accusation, "How do you think I feel? They pushed my car off a bridge, Sydney. I finally found my mother, I convinced her she was safe with me and they pushed me off a bridge so they could take her away."  
  
"I've gone through your chart," he said, purposely ignoring Jarod's words in favor of doling out advice on his physical condition, "I know you're in pain, but, with some medication and a bit of rest . ."  
  
"Medication? Rest? Aren't you listening to me?" Jarod interrupted, his eyes widening at the suggestion, "Don't you understand? It's all my fault."  
  
*********  
  
TBC 


	4. Part 4

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
part 4  
  
by imagine  
  
The path was thick and the mud soaked through her boots, weighing her down and threatening to keep her suctioned to one place; but, Miss Parker managed to pull herself up the small hill. Though she heard nothing but the wind and the rustling of the trees around her, Miss Parker felt another presence. The beam of her flashlight illuminated the markings in the ground around her: footsteps, indentations that indicated a fall, a fresh handprint on a rock. Someone was ahead of her.  
  
After twenty minutes, she was rewarded with the glow of a street lamp. Emerging from the muddy terrain, she spotted a figure stumbling across the icy road toward the neon light that flashed the name of a motel. Miss Parker quickened her pace, knowing instinctively that she needed to catch up with the woman, before she disappeared into one of the rooms.   
  
The temperature had dropped considerably since she left the hospital and, though Miss Parker wasn't sure when it happened, the rain had turned to snow. A thin layer of white powder laced the blacktop, masking the patches of ice beneath and now the heavy, wet flakes that had formed were erasing the footsteps of both her and her prey. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing, or not, but the eerie silence that accompanied a snowfall was definitely a contributing factor to her anxiousness.  
  
Miss Parker was half way across the parking lot when the sound of skidding tires sliced through the silence. Ducking behind a salt stained Ford Explorer, she watched in horror as the Town Car came to a halt at the edge of the motel driveway. Immediately, the woman she'd been following changed directions, trying desperately to put distance between her and the new arrivals.  
  
Gripping the muzzle of her automatic tightly, Miss Parker struck the window of the truck. Splinters of glass showered the area but her attention was on the woman racing toward the back of the motel. Without hesitation, she slid across the seats of the cold vehicle, reached below the dashboard, and tugged at the wires tucked inside. In seconds, the motor was humming.  
  
Straightening herself in the seat, she threw the car into gear and, raising the hood of her jacket, stepped on the gas. The tires skidded in the ice, then found traction on the blacktop and sped from its parking space. Logic told her to follow the woman and her pursuers into the alley behind the building; but, her instincts took over and Miss Parker found herself guiding the vehicle around the motel, heading for the alley from the opposite direction.   
  
*********  
  
Margaret raced through the alley, desperately trying to block out the sound of gunfire. Though the Town Car was approaching quickly, she concentrated on her footing and on the exit that lay ahead, praying that no one would come out to investigate the commotion. She had no idea where she was headed, or how she would elude capture this time; but, she knew she could not allow someone else to be injured because of her mistakes.  
  
The mouth of the alley was only a few yards away, and, as she tried to force herself to decide which direction she would turn, a large truck blocked her path. Startled, she hesitated when the passenger door swung open and shots erupted. Despite the close range, the bullets missed her completely and a woman's voice yelled for her to get in the SUV. Confused and uncertain, she delayed her decision a second too long and, suddenly, Margaret felt herself being pulled backward.  
  
"No!"  
  
*********  
  
The snow, wind and ice made the roads difficult and, the broken window made driving almost impossible. Even with the heater on its highest setting, after only thirty minutes, the front window was frosted on the inside and snow was beginning to accumulate on the passenger seat. Abandoning the Explorer less than a mile from where she left her own car, Miss Parker continued the search for Margaret and the Town Car for another hour before finally returning to the hospital.  
  
"Miss Parker, what happened?" Sydney asked as he rose from the bench outside Jarod's room. "Are you all right?"  
  
She nodded and motioned toward Jarod's room. "Is he awake?"  
  
"Yes, but I don't think now is a good time to talk to him," he replied, "The police were just here." He sighed and pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. "It seems they managed to retrieve some items from the car this evening."   
  
"Why is that upsetting?"  
  
"Jarod identified them as belonging to his mother," he told her. "I'm afraid the police weren't very optimistic about finding her alive. Based on Jarod's description, they believe she may be a Jane Doe that was pronounced dead of exposure late this afternoon."  
  
"Idiots," she spat, moving past him into the room.  
  
Though it was well past midnight, Jarod was sitting in a chair in front of the window, staring at the snowfall. On the floor, in front of him, was an open vinyl bag. Though she couldn't see what was inside, a woman's sweater and scarf were draped over the edge. A thick book was propped, tent-like, over the heat vents on the window sill, its pages still too waterlogged to flutter in response to the air flow. Jarod didn't turn when she entered, but his eyes shifted to her reflection in the glass as she approached, then back to the snow.  
  
"You can save your sympathies," he said bitterly, "I know Sydney told you what the police said; but, my mother is not dead."  
  
"I know."  
  
She saw him twitch at the words, then, stiffly, turned in the chair. His eyes searched hers a moment, dropping long enough to inspect her wet clothes and haggard appearance before sliding back to her face. Before he could question her, she closed the gap between them and gently placed the ring she found at the accident site in front of the drying book.   
  
"Where did you find this?" he asked, hesitantly reaching for the mud caked piece of jewelry.  
  
"About 400 yards from where you were found. It was beside a trail that leads behind a motel about five miles from here."  
  
Looking up, he tightened his fist around the ring but the smile that began to form on his face quickly faded when she avoided his gaze. "You found her, didn't you? She's all right."  
  
Still donned in heavy, wet clothes, Miss Parker stepped back and slid the leather jacket from her shoulders. Laying it across the back of a chair, she wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath.   
  
"Parker, tell me what happened."  
  
*********  
  
When she was finished, she was sitting on the edge of the bed staring at his back. Half way through her narration, he had turned away, preferring to hear the apology in her voice than see the remorse in her eyes. The ring was still tightly hidden in his fist and, though he felt the stones cutting into his skin, Jarod refused to loosen his grip.   
  
"Are you all right?" he asked, after a long silence.  
  
Surprised by the question, Miss Parker hesitated before answering with a low, "Yes."  
  
He nodded then rocked forward and pushed himself from the chair. Though the muscles in his legs were weak, Jarod managed to bring himself within two steps of the bed before they buckled beneath him. He lunged forward, and was grabbing for the mattress when both her hands were suddenly wrapped around his arm.   
  
Slowly, one hand slid across his chest and the other down his back, gripping his waist beneath the hospital gown. The sensation of her cool hand against his bare skin was unexpected and, as she tightened her grip and pulled him toward her, Jarod realized her touch wasn't as cold as it initially felt. In fact, the longer it pressed against his body, the more warmth radiated through him.   
  
"Why are you here?" he asked when she helped him on to the mattress.  
  
"Are you complaining?"  
  
"Curious."  
  
She held the blanket up until he slid his legs into place, then gently let it drape his body. Leaning forward, she pulled the sheet and blankets across his chest, tucking them under his arms and smoothing them over his abdomen while she straightened. When she started to turn away, Jarod lifted his hand on top of hers and squeezed it tenderly, bringing her vivid blue eyes back to him.  
  
"Someone once told me that I shouldn't ignore a turning point when it's staring me in the face."  
  
"And this is a turning point."  
  
"At the very least, it's a bend in the road," she said, drawing her hand away.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Jarod brought his hand back to his side, watching her intently as she moved to the window. She took the book into her hands and absently flipped through the ruined pages before replacing it over the heat register. When she finally faced him again, he shifted restlessly in the bed and dropped his eyes. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Were you close enough for my mother, or her kidnappers to recognize you?"  
  
She cocked an eyebrow at him and folded her arms across her chest. "In case you dozed off while I was talking, they were obviously Sweepers. If they'd seen me, do you think I would be standing here, talking to you?"  
  
Meeting her gaze with a shy smile, he nodded then reached for the phone. Picking up the handset, he held it out to her. "Good. Then they won't be suspicious when you call and tell them you've found me."  
  
*********  
  
Except for a soft moan of protest, she didn't move as she was carried effortlessly through the garage and into the house. Her clothes were wet, her body shivering beneath them and her face was covered with perspiration. When he laid her on the sofa in front of the fire, Margaret curled into a ball, bringing her head to her knees and whispered something none of them understood.  
  
"How long has she been like this?"   
  
"About forty minutes," the man answered. Removing his gloves, he rubbed his hands together and stepped closer to the heat of the fire. "But she wasn't exactly responsive before that, either."  
  
"Has she said anything?"  
  
Chuckling, the man turned away from the flames and shook his head. "Only that she wasn't going to tell us anything. She's as stubborn as her son."  
  
"We'll see about that. Take her to the room at the top of the stairs," he spat, signaling the guard posted at the garage door. Then, motioning to the woman in the kitchen, he ordered, "Go with them. Get her out of those wet clothes and into something dry. I'll be up in a few minutes to examine and question her."  
  
"Yes, Doctor."  
  
Moving to the base of the steps, he watched his orders being carried out, then turned to the man still standing in front of the fire. "Did you find anything when you searched her room?"  
  
"I was wondering when you would ask," the younger man replied. Shrugging out of his wet coat, he reached into the pocket. Retrieving a black billfold, he turned it over in his hand once, then smiled and tossed it to the older man before letting his coat fall over the arm of a chair. "This was all she had with her."  
  
Running his fingers across the identification inside the wallet, the doctor breathed a sigh of satisfaction. "It's enough."  
  
"For now," the man agreed, "but, it's not exactly what we're looking for, at the moment."  
  
"Have you learned nothing? This proves they've had contact. If she told him about the scrolls, then he'll try to use them to get her back."  
  
"And, if she hasn't?"  
  
He smiled and held Jarod's driver's license to the light. "He's a smart boy. He'll figure it out for himself."  
  
*********  
  
"Will he help us?"   
  
"Sydney will always help," she answered, letting the door close behind her. "You, of all people, should know that. He'll contact Broots and bring him up to speed. In the morning, he'll start looking for a safe house. Once he's found one, he'll call and we can get things rolling."  
  
"I'd rather not wait," he admitted, glaring at her as she dropped into the chair beside him, "The sooner . ."  
  
"Yeah, well, that's just too damn bad, isn't it? I'm not making that phone call until everything is in place," she said. Crossing her legs, Miss Parker leaned back and sighed, "So, you may as well get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a busy day."  
  
Jarod let his head fall back to the pillows and took a deep breath. It had taken him over an hour to convince her that his plan would work; now, all he could do is hope he had considered every possible angle. As much as he would like to think otherwise, he and his mother were not the only people with something at stake.   
  
"Thank you," he said quietly.  
  
Keeping her eyes closed, she answered, "I haven't done anything, yet. You can thank me, when we find your mother."  
  
"I will," he smiled.  
  
"Now, shut up and go to sleep."  
  
He watched her find a more comfortable position in the chair, then turned his eyes back to the ceiling. Whether it was the photo of his mother and Catherine that was spurring her on, or something else, it was obvious that Parker was as anxious as he was. She had already gone out of her way to help them, so, whatever her reasons, Jarod had no intention of questioning her motives. Yet.  
  
Besides, his thoughts kept slipping back to the brief time he'd spent with his mother. The feel of her arms around him, the sound of her voice, the blush that spread across her face when she talked about his father were all sensations he would take comfort in. However, snippets of their conversations came back to him without warning, soon followed by a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.  
  
"I can keep you safe," he promised, "I can keep us both safe."  
  
"If the Centre found out ..."  
  
"They won't."   
  
"Of course they will. They always find out and, when they do, they'll make life that much more dangerous for you and . . ."  
  
Rolling his head to the side, he pulled the blankets to his shoulders and stared at the falling snow. He knew his mother would never, willingly, tell anyone from the Centre that they'd been together, but Jarod had no doubt that whoever was responsible for their accident and her disappearance didn't need her to tell them.   
  
His mother had been right, the Centre always found out. This time, though, Jarod was going to use the information against them.   
  
*********  
  
TBC 


	5. Part 5

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
part 5  
  
by imagine  
  
Jarod blinked away the heavy fog of sleep, slowly rolled to one side and retrieved his wrist watch from the bed stand. As he pulled back, he noticed the tube protruding from his hand and frowned. Letting his eyes follow it to the bag hanging from the metal stand beside the bed, he fingered the IV for a moment, contemplating when it had been put in and why, then sighed and turned his attention on the face of the timepiece. Finding both hands at the twelve o'clock position, he threw off his blankets and pulled his legs to the side of the bed, gripping the bed railing when the room began to tip.   
  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
  
Surprised by the voice, he looked up as she entered but said nothing until she took him by the shoulders and began to gently lower him back to the pillows.   
  
"It's noon," he protested, holding out his watch as proof of his statement.   
  
"I know how to tell time," she interrupted, slipping the Bulova in her pocket.  
  
"It's late," he continued, "By now, we should . ." Her eyes met his as his head came in contact with the pillow and Jarod fell silent. Something wasn't right. Glancing at his arm, he lifted it to show her the IV. "When was this put in?"   
  
"Early this morning."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because you needed it."  
  
He stared at her. Her expression was hard, one that Jarod immediately associated with the persona he thought she had shed after Carthis. The blankets were pulled to his chest and, when he tried to push them off, Miss Parker grabbed him by the shoulders and held him down. Though he could have easily broken her grip, Jarod became still, suddenly realizing that her touch was cold, the exact opposite of the support and compassion he remembered from the night before.   
  
"Sydney will be in to see you in a minute," she said, slowly releasing him, "Once he verifies you're able to travel, we'll be on our way."  
  
Sydney. Sydney was supposed to be working with Broots to find a safe house.   
  
Despite the blankets, a chill traveled up his spine and Jarod pulled them to his neck while sliding his eyes to the window. His breath caught in his throat, then came in rapid gasps as he realized his mother's book, bag and clothes were gone. He snapped his eyes back to the bed stand then reached over and searched the shallow top drawer until Parker pushed him back to the pillows.   
  
"The ring . ." he puffed, "What . ."  
  
"You're going to hyperventilate," she warned, "Calm down."  
  
He closed his eyes for a moment, calling on every relaxation method he'd ever learned to distance himself from the panic growing inside. When he finally opened his eyes, she was still hovering above him, her arms crossed and watching him with one eyebrow raised. Her face was, once again, a mask of indifference but he saw something in her eyes, something he couldn't explain, something that reassured him. He opened his mouth, intent on demanding an explanation, but before he could find his voice, the door opened.   
  
Distracted by the new arrivals, Jarod followed Parker's gaze and watched the couple take positions on either side of the doorway. Suddenly, he realized that finding out where his mother's belongings were was the least of his problems.   
  
The woman was about Parker's height and weight, but, unlike his huntress, the woman's dark blonde hair was styled in a short, asymmetrical cut, the long side hanging loosely over her right eyebrow. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, and her eyes were hidden by a pair of tinted wire rimmed glasses. She caught his gaze and, for a moment, Jarod thought she might say something; when she didn't, he focused on her companion.   
  
Jarod guessed the man to be about his height, but his thick biceps and barrel chest indicated he carried at least fifteen pounds more than the Pretender. His hair was light and so thin it gave an initial impression that it was receding when it was not. Like his partner, he was dressed in dark pants and a heavy jacket that displayed the insignia of a local chapter of paramedics, his hands pushed deeply into the front pockets.   
  
Though Jarod didn't recognize either of the arrivals, their straight backs, rigid shoulders and threatening scowls were too familiar to ignore. There was no doubt in his mind that they were sweepers.  
  
"What are they doing here?" he growled, shifting his attention back to Miss Parker.  
  
"Think of them as Centre-issue baby-sitters."   
  
His gaze followed as she crossed confidently to the door, glancing hesitantly at the two guards when she stopped in front of them, while his mind raced to validate his memories. She had promised to help find his mother. She had given him his mother's ring and he had heard the guilt in her voice when she told him about witnessing her abduction. She had stayed with him, listened to him, talked with him. He had seen the determination in her eyes when he told her his plan and, though she hadn't liked it, she had agreed to help. Hadn't she? Suddenly, he wasn't sure of anything.  
  
"I don't understand. Last night ..."  
  
"What's to understand?" she interrupted, yanking open the door. "Regardless of where you were headed last night, Jarod, the road has turned. You're going back where you belong."  
  
*********  
  
"Oh, good, you're back."  
  
"I told you I would be. Have you been with her this entire time?" he asked as the other man emerged from the bedroom. "When I left this morning, you were going up to see her."  
  
"She's not as well as I had hoped," he sighed, "I've had to spend much more time tending her than I had anticipated."  
  
Catching a quick glance of the sleeping woman as the door closed, he turned back to the doctor. "What do you mean? Is she still running a fever?"  
  
"The fever broke about an hour ago but she's in a great deal of pain, both emotionally and physically, to be of any use. I gave her something to help her rest. We can try to question her again, in a couple of hours . ."  
  
"A couple of hours?" the man repeated angrily, "After everything I went through to locate her and bring her here, you're going to wait a couple of hours so she can rest?"  
  
"We don't have any other choice," he replied calmly, "Her injuries are minor; but, she blames herself for her son being hurt and she's all but convinced herself that he's going to die as a result. In her current state, we would not be able to trust anything she tells us."  
  
"She's Jarod's mother, there was a limit as to how much we were going to believe anyway."  
  
"I'm telling you, if you insist on questioning her, you're running the risk of having her completely shut down. She'll be of no use to you if she's catatonic."  
  
"So, that's it?" he dared, waving toward the closed door, "We're just going to abandon everything we've worked for because she's been traumatized? What about the scrolls? What about ...?"  
  
"Relax," he smiled, heading toward the stairs, "Victor and Jenna will be back in a few hours and, when they return, they'll have everything we need with them. Now, why don't we go downstairs and you can tell me what you found out."  
  
"What?" He grabbed the man's shoulder, spinning him so they were face to face. "They were under strict orders, from me, to guard that woman in there. Where the hell did they go?"  
  
"To get Jarod."  
  
*********  
  
Sydney offered nothing to help ease Jarod's confusion. During the first twenty minutes of his visit, he took Jarod's temperature, poked at the glands in his throat and listened to his heart. He asked how his protege was feeling, made small talk about the storm that had passed and the one on its way, and, when Jarod turned away, focusing his attention on the snow covered buildings across the street, Sydney promised things would get better.  
  
"You had an episode last night," he explained, waiting until Jarod was facing him before adding, "When Miss Parker found you, you were struggling valiantly against two orderlies who were restraining you against the bed. You were shivering, sweating and cursing for them to let you go."  
  
"I was delirious? How high was my fever?"  
  
"Too high."  
  
Jarod stared at the point where the IV invaded his hand and shook his head. "I don't remember."  
  
"Of course you don't," Sydney smiled, patting the younger man's arm.   
  
"I remember something much different," he said quietly.   
  
Ignoring the pressure on his arm as the blood pressure cuff inflated, he looked back at the window, hoping for some indication that his mother's belongings had once been neatly stacked beneath it. Shaking his head, he turned his eyes toward the ceiling, replaying everything Sydney had told him about last night and trying desperately to make the version agree with his own.   
  
He remembered the visit from the police and the anger he had felt when they told him they believed his mother was dead. He remembered guiltily going through his mother's things, hoping for some clue as to who she was, and fighting the urge to believe she was gone forever. He remembered the relief he felt when Parker told him she was alive, the panic that had washed over him when he found out she'd been abducted by the Centre and the anxiousness of planning her rescue. Could Sydney be right? Had it all been one big hallucination?  
  
"So, tell me, Sydney, why are they here?" he asked, his head rolling to the side as he motioned toward the guards with his free hand, "If I'm as bad off as you say, I'm in no condition to run. Surely, Miss Parker has enough confidence in herself to believe she could keep me here on her own."  
  
"I'm afraid it isn't Miss Parker's choice. The Centre isn't taking chances," he answered solemnly. Removing the apparatus from around Jarod's arm, he dutifully marked the results in his chart before adding, "They insisted on escorts to keep you in line and assure your transport."  
  
"Amazing. You call them escorts and Miss Parker refers to them as my baby-sitters. We all know what they are, and what they're trained to do, Sydney," he spat, not bothering to hide his disgust. "The fact that they're here just proves I've been trusting the wrong people. I thought the two of you understood why I escaped. After Carthis, I thought Parker understood."  
  
"When Miss Parker called to tell me she'd found you, and what condition you were in, she was genuinely concerned for you," Sydney assured him, "The Centre wanted to assign Mr. Cox to your case because I was in California but Miss Parker held them off, insisting I was better suited to the job. The 'baby-sitters' were part of a compromise she had no choice in; they were sent to police the situation and to notify the powers when I arrived. If I did not appear by dawn, Mr. Cox would be sent as my replacement. Luckily, I was already at the airport when she called, so it was just a matter of changing flights."   
  
Jarod looked up slowly, his eyes darting anxiously toward the two guards before meeting his mentor's gaze. "You were at the airport?"  
  
"Broots and I were in San Franciso, looking for you at the medical conference." Sydney nodded and slid his hand into Jarod's, "We arrived a little after three and, thankfully, you were showing signs of improvement; but it will be a another day or so before you're back on your feet.   
  
The door opened and, as if on cue, Miss Parker entered with a wheel chair. She glanced at Jarod and Sydney, then handed over control of the chair to the male guard.  
  
"Because of your accident, the local authorities have taken an interest in your recovery so we can't stay here any longer," Sydney continued, "and the airports are closed so we can't transport you to the Centre just yet."  
  
"What a shame," Jarod growled, his attention on the approaching guard. When the man came to a stop beside Sydney, every muscle in the Pretender's body seemed to tense, except for the ones wrapped in his mentor's hand.  
  
"I'm afraid you're going to have to do your recovery in a Centre safehouse located about an hour and a half from here," Sydney told him, "I don't want to sedate you, Jarod, so, please, just let Victor help you into the chair. I promise, everything we're doing is for the best."  
  
His eyes narrowed, sliding from the guard to Sydney. After squeezing the older man's hand, he drew it back and laid it across his chest. "I understand."  
  
*********  
  
Emma walked through the halls toward her assigned station, smiling and nodding genially to those she passed. Despite the fact that most of the people she greeted had been coworkers and friends for more than ten years, at the moment, she could not recall their names. Her mind was far from work, still reliving the night before and the surprise that had been waiting for her at home.  
  
The drive from the hospital to the three bedroom house normally took less than thirty minutes; however, because of the storm, it had taken twice as long. As much as she loved the look of a fresh blanket of snow, she despised the havoc it wreaked but, at first, the extended commute was something she took in stride. With her husband, Mike, still in Chicago, she reminded herself that she had the house to herself. After a nice hot shower and a light dinner, she would curl up in bed with a large mug of Irish coffee and read the latest Grisham novel until she fell asleep.   
  
Half way home, however, she heard a radio report identifying her town as one of many affected by weather related power outages and all her plans faded into frustration. At least she could build a fire and sleep in the family room, she reminded herself, there were many who would not have that option. By the time she pulled into the driveway, every muscle in Emma's back and neck were stretched to their limit. Once in the garage, she sat in the car a few moments rolling her neck from side to side and curling her shoulders in hopes of relieving the tension. When the temperature in the car started to fall, she sighed and moved into the house, concentrating on the exercises rather than the cold, dark rooms that waited for her.  
  
She slipped out of her coat, boots, scarves and hat, leaving them by the door and moved tiredly through the kitchen. At first, she attributed the soft glow of light to the reflection of the moon on the snow outside, but, as she reached the edge of the room her senses picked up the scent of burning apples. Turning, she noticed the lit candle, the long stemmed rose and the note taped beside them on the table.   
  
You'll find a surprise at every flame. Blow out this one and you'll find another.  
  
Suddenly, her spirits were lifted. With a smile, she picked up the rose, blew out the candle and moved into the next room. As promised, a second candle was burning in the middle of the dining room table. Beside it, was a small, ceramic angel holding a rose and another note.  
  
You are my life.  
  
In the living room, she found a third candle, another rose and a framed photo she had never seen. Holding it closer to the flame, she ran her fingers over the images of her and her husband smiling at each other in the dark. A bonfire glowed behind them and, though she didn't remember the picture being taken, she knew where they had been when it was and tears welled in her eyes.  
  
I need you.  
  
She moved into the family room, expecting to find him in front of the hearth; but, instead, she found an empty room. Propped on top of the mantle, beside a plate of fruit and another rose, was a third note.  
  
Turn around.  
  
She turned as his arms wrapped around her waist, meeting his lips as he whispered, "I love you."  
  
Emma's smile was still bright as she rounded the corner and stepped behind her station. Taking a deep breath, she told herself it was time to concentrate on her job, but her mind kept drifting back to her husband, waiting at home.  
  
"The sooner you start working," she reprimanded herself, "the sooner you can get out of here."  
  
"You just got here," a voice playfully reminded her, "You've got a long way to go before you can leave."  
  
Startled, she turned toward the voice and shrugged.   
  
The woman grinned at the blush on Emma's face. "Judging by the look on your face, I'd say Mike's back."  
  
She nodded and reached for a file. "He got in just before they closed the airport."  
  
"Lucky."  
  
"He got that, too," she murmured, then, before the other woman could respond, quickly faced her and added, "I'm sure you want to get out of here, so why don't you tell me what happened here last night, Kay?"   
  
"Actually, it was pretty uneventful," she said with a sigh, "except the new patient in 310 left."  
  
"310? Jarod left? When?"  
  
"About an hour ago. His doctor transferred him to some sanitarium in Delaware," she pointed at the file as she pulled her purse from a drawer in the desk, "It's in the jacket, along with a note for you from his girlfriend."  
  
Frowning, Emma reached into the file and pulled out a sealed envelope with her name neatly printed on the front. Moving away from the desk, she pulled the folded piece of paper from the envelope, finding a business card paper clipped to the edge.  
  
Emma -   
  
There are a lot of things happening that you're better off not knowing about; however, I need your help. First, for your safety, as well as Jarod's, do not tell anyone what you and I discussed regarding his mother or the accident. Second, this card has my private number, call me if anyone asks questions about me or Jarod. I know I'm asking a lot and you are, obviously, under no obligation; but, I'm hoping you'll realize that I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important.   
  
Miss Parker  
  
Emma had no sooner finished reading the note and pushed it into the pocket of her sweater when two uniformed policemen appeared at the desk. She looked at the heavy metal box the younger man propped against the ledge, then glanced between both men.  
  
"Can I help you?"  
  
"We're looking for the patient that was in room 310," the older one said. "Where is he?"  
  
*********  
  
TBC 


	6. Part 6

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
part 6  
  
by imagine  
  
As the ambulance backed into a covered stall beside the multi-car garage, Jarod took in his surroundings, forcing himself to commit as much of it to memory as possible. The secluded house was larger than he expected. In fact, it looked more like a deserted lodge than a house.   
  
Set at the end of a long snowy driveway that was lined with evergreen trees, the two level structure was made of stone and wood with two wide chimneys set on either side of the house, indicating it boasted two fireplaces. The smoke and heavy scent of ash billowing from the house told Jarod that the hearth on the west side of the house was currently lit. Balconies overlooked a frozen pond in the back while a deep wooden porch hugged the front of the building. Had it been Summer, the small windows at ground level would not have been visible through the closely planted bushes bordering the house; but, in the dead of Winter, the branches were thick fingers of ice and offered the basement nothing in the way of cover.   
  
By the time the vehicle rolled to a stop and engine was abruptly cut off, Jarod also noticed a maintenance building skillfully hidden among the trees, a downed fence at the edge of the property, a wide stone wishing well and a barbecue pit. Laying back in the stretcher, he sighed, bit down on the cloth between his teeth and tugged at the heavy leather straps holding him in place. If he was ever to regain his freedom, he needed more information about where he had been taken. Nothing was insignificant.  
  
"Well, well, look who's awake."  
  
He stared up at the man, increasing his pull on the restraints while the guard adjusted the drip of the IV. Despite his best efforts, Jarod had dozed periodically during the trip and he had no doubt that his fatigue was due to the drug flowing freely into his veins. However, the drug was not strong enough to put him into the deep sleep that was required to fend off his nightmares. Each time he woke, it was with a start; and, the first sound he heard was always the same deep, menacing voice floating into the cabin from the front of the ambulance. Though he hadn't been able to make out most of the man's words, Jarod had heard enough to know that Victor was a sweeper with career goals. Regardless of how it had come to be, he considered his current assignment, as one of Jarod's guards, an opportunity to move up the Centre foodchain and, he had no intention of squandering the chance to prove himself to the corporation's upper echelons  
  
With a cold grin, the sweeper met his captive's gaze then crouched beside him. Taking a handful of Jarod's dark hair between his fingers, he pulled the bound man toward him, into an uncomfortable angle.   
  
"In a few minutes, we're going to take you inside and, if you're lucky, we'll undo the restraints. Remember what I told you earlier," he warned, "if you behave, we'll get a long just fine; do something stupid, and your worst nightmare will be more comforting than what I do to you. That is, if you ever find the courage to close your eyes."  
  
The smile broadened, and the light eyes flickered with excitement at a thought Jarod could only imagine. The ripped towel Victor gagged him with threatened to slip further down his already dry throat, his heart raced and his fists clenched in anxiousness, but the Pretender refused to look away. He had dealt with far worse threats over the years, and this man - this sweeper - did not have the power to intimidate him.  
  
His message delivered, the sweeper turned away as the double doors at the back of the ambulance swung open. Immediately, the cabin was filled with a cold gust of wind and flurries of snow but Jarod managed to suppress a groan of discomfort. Still dressed in nothing but a thin hospital gown and robe, the icy breeze cut through him, making the thin blanket around his legs flutter and forcing his lungs into releasing the last warm breath they held very slowly. At that moment, he remembered a similar feeling right before losing consciousness in the river but he refused to dig deeper into the memory.  
  
The second guard, a woman Victor had continually referred to has 'Babe' during the drive pulled herself through the open doors and, wordlessly, unlocked the wheels of the gurney. With a nod to her partner, standing at Jarod's head, she gripped the foot of the stretcher and pulled it out the door. The legs of the metal cart fell to the ground with sudden jolt, echoing icily against the cement, and, seconds later, Jarod was being wheeled down a freshly shoveled walk.  
  
Shivering from the cold, he closed his eyes as they moved, silently promising his body that they would soon be inside. Soon, the wind and snow would not have access to his exposed skin. He had turned his head, trying to bury his nose against the pillow in hopes of warming the air filling his lungs when something warm was draped over his body and a familiar scent invaded his nostrils. Opening his eyes he found Miss Parker moving beside him. Her dark hair hugged her face, and her scarf fluttered against her jaw and mouth, in the wind; but, for a moment, Jarod thought he saw a faint smile of reassurance. As the stretcher continued toward the house, she slipped her hand under the long lined leather jacket that now hugged his body and squeezed his hand.  
  
"Why the hell is he gagged?" she demanded. Without waiting for a response, she pulled them to a stop as soon as they were on the porch, sheltered from the wind by the building. She leaned over the Pretender and gently pulled at the tape that bound his mouth, holding his head gently with gloved hands and offering him a few seconds of her body heat.  
  
"Two miles from the hospital, he started singing some damned nursery rhyme," the sweeper complained, watching the woman remove the towel that had been used as a muzzle. "It was annoying."  
  
"So you gagged him?" Sydney challenged, suddenly appearing in Jarod's line of sight, "With the amount of medication in his system, his body could have reacted violently. If he had panicked, if he had begun to retch, he might have choked. He might have suffocated on his own . .  
  
"I warned him twice, but he wouldn't shut up," the man interrupted with a smirk, "He gave me no choice."  
  
Miss Parker stepped back, allowing Sydney to comfort Jarod when he began to cough violently. She watched as the psychiatrist held a bottle of water to Jarod's lips, waiting until the still restrained man swallowed enough to calm himself before spinning on her heel. Grabbing the collar of the sweeper's jacket, she abruptly pulled him to her eye level, and pushed the nose of her automatic under his chin.   
  
"For future reference," she hissed, "anything and everything to do with Jarod is my job. I chased him, I caught him and I'm responsible for him until we get to the Centre. You are a sweeper assigned to the safe house, not one of my personal guards. It is your job to do as you're told and nothing more. You are not authorized to make any decision regarding his treatment; and I don't *ever* recall telling you it was all right to gag him. Therefore, when he began his annoying habits - which were designed to push your buttons, by the way - you should have contacted me on my cell phone for instructions. Make another mistake like that, and it will be your last. Do I make myself clear?"   
  
Keeping her frosty gaze on the man, Miss Parker waited until he nervously dropped his eyes and nodded, before pushing him away and holstering her gun. Then, taking Sydney's arm, she brought the psychiatrist to her side and glanced between Victor and his partner.   
  
"It's cold out here," she told them, motioning toward Jarod, "Get him inside."   
  
*********  
  
She knew that his solicitous tone and gentle touch were more of a threat than they were a manner to ease her mind, and Margaret backed away from the man. She stared at the open hand he offered, then at him, pulling the blankets tightly around her shoulders.   
  
"I promise, we won't go far," he smiled, "Just to the window."   
  
She shot a curious glance toward the shuttered pane, but said nothing and made no attempt to move.  
  
"But you're going to want to see this," he urged, dropping his hand as he lowered himself to the edge of the bed. "We've got visitors and, I'm sure, just knowing they're here will make a dramatic difference in the way you feel."  
  
"I'm not interested in anything you have to show me."  
  
"Not even your son?"  
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked, stealing another look at the window.  
  
"Jarod," he smiled. "Jarod is here."  
  
Her eyes widened, locking on to his for a brief, panic-stricken moment before turning toward the window. Discarding the blankets as she moved from the bed, Margaret ignored the rubber feeling in her legs and crossed the room, using furniture and the wall for support. Then, with one more glance at him over her shoulder, she shakily pulled back the thick curtains.   
  
Leaning against the cold frost covered pane, she watched Jarod being pulled to the house on a hospital gurney. His eyes were closed, his hands were bound at his side and, even from her vantage point on the second floor, she could see he was shivering.   
  
"What's wrong? I thought you would be happy to see him," the man mocked, moving behind her. His fingers slid along her shoulders, burying themselves under her long hair and reveling in the feel of the tight muscles. "After all, the last time you saw him, he was near death. You should be thrilled to know he survived."  
  
"You didn't need to bring him here," she whispered, still staring out the window. She stopped slowly clawing at the glass when Jarod was covered, her mind immediately recognizing the woman protecting her son and then silently thanking her.   
  
"Of course we did. You weren't being very cooperative, Margaret. We needed some way to get your attention."  
  
"Please," she begged, turning toward him only when Jarod was rolled out of view, "let him go. He doesn't know anything about the scrolls, about . . I'll tell you whatever you want to know; just let him go."  
  
Taking a step back, he laughed and shook his head. "You are far from a stupid woman, Margaret. You know there isn't a chance in hell that I'm going to let your little boy leave here, until it's time to take him back to Delaware." Opening the door, he stood at the threshold and smiled at the distraught look spreading over the woman's face. "The best you can hope for, now, is that I don't kill him in front of you."  
  
*********  
  
Once inside, Miss Parker took control of the gurney. Pushing Victor out of the way, she and Sydney rolled the Pretender in front of the large stone fireplace. He felt the straps around his wrists and ankles fall away, warm hands massaging his arms to increase circulation and, the dry heat against his face. Inhaling deeply, Jarod rolled his head to the side and returned his mentor's concerned gaze with a soft, tired smile.   
  
He heard her voice, and looked up, watching her face as she ordered the sweepers to find blankets and warm clothes. Though her cheeks were still flush from the cold, she removed her gloves and scarf, and tossed them on a nearby chair. With her arms crossed in front of her, she turned in place, quietly surveying the house with a critical eye. When she met his gaze, however, he saw her expression soften.  
  
"Thank you," he managed.  
  
She nodded, letting her arms drop to her side as she moved out of his line of sight. An instant later she returned with a small pile of folded quilts, the woman guard trailing behind her. With a flick of her wrist, Miss Parker removed the leather coat and before Jarod could react to the loss, it was replaced by two thick blankets.   
  
"We need to get you out of those wet clothes," she told him. Turning toward the sweeper, she tossed the remaining two quilts on to the floor beside the hearth and demanded, "Where's your partner? Go find him and tell him I want him to   
  
donate something for Jarod to where. Something warm."  
  
The woman bit back a grin and nodded, disappearing into the space behind Jarod.   
  
"I wasn't exposed that long," he promised, hugging himself beneath the coverings. Facing the fireplace, he slid his eyes to the flames and leaned back. "I'll be all right now."   
  
"Miss Parker is right," Sydney admonished, running his hand along Jarod's forehead, "It's better to err on the side of caution. Less than forty-eight hours ago, you narrowly escaped freezing to death at the side of a river and, since then, you have been suffering from extremely high fevers and hallucinations. If we're not careful, you could develop pneumonia."  
  
"Listen to your doctor, Jarod," a voice said from behind, "you're much too valuable to risk losing to something as mundane as a respiratory disease."  
  
He recognized the voice, but because of the gurney's positioning, Jarod found he had to strain to see the new arrival. Stretching his neck, and turning his body at an odd angle, he watched the man enter from the large gourmet kitchen.   
  
"Cox, what the hell are you doing here?" Miss Parker demanded. "You're supposed to be in Blue Cove."  
  
"Am I?"  
  
"Sydney was assigned to Jarod," she spat, crossing her arms as she stepped between the approaching man and the Pretender, "That was the deal."  
  
"I'm afraid you misunderstand, Miss Parker," he replied. His smile was thin and his eyes were narrow as he spoke, "My presence here has nothing to do with Jarod's capture. In fact, I was here long before you contacted anyone at the Centre to notify them of the unfortunate accident that prompted your success."  
  
She glanced at Jarod as Mr. Cox moved around her and stopped at foot of the stretcher. Though the Pretender kept his gaze on the other man, the lines on his face were suddenly much more defined than they had been, his eyes no longer held the lackluster signs of exhaustion and the muscles in his neck were so taut she could see his the tempo of his pulse. Regardless of the drugs pumping through his system, and the trauma his body had endured, Jarod knew Mr. Cox was not only responsible for the accident, he was responsible for Margaret's disappearance.  
  
"You expect me to believe in coincidences?"  
  
Raising his eyes from the Pretender, he looked at her and shrugged. "That, my dear Miss Parker, is completely your choice. I am just stating a fact. If you don't believe me, feel free to contact Mr. Raines or Mr. Lyle; they will confirm that I have been staying in this house for almost a month."  
  
"A month?" she repeated. "Now, why would you - or anyone for that matter - come to northern Minnesota in Winter?"  
  
"When my activities become your affair, I will explain," he answered tersely, "In the meantime, I suggest you refrain from asking questions that are none of your concern and concentrate your energies on keeping your Pretender alive and under your control until he can be delivered to a cell on SL-27."   
  
Before Miss Parker could reply, Victor appeared, carrying a small bundle. He shot a disapproving glance at Jarod, then held out the clothes to the brunette, unaware of the dialogue he had interrupted. Drawing in a deep breath to keep herself from pushing the issue with Cox, she moved to the sofa and inspected the items carefully, finally indicating they would suffice with a nod of her head in the sweeper's direction.  
  
"The bedrooms are on the second floor," Cox offered, circling the stretcher, "I am afraid that there is no elevator; but, Victor will assist Jarod up the stairs and into the waiting wheelchair. We've designated the room at the west end of the hall for Jarod and assigned Victor to act as his guard while he's here; you and Sydney will have the rooms on either side."  
  
"We?"  
  
"One of my associates is staying here, as well," he explained calmly. Casting a quick, sinister smile at Jarod, he added, "He is currently attending to some business, but I am sure you will see him soon."  
  
"And, exactly who is this associate?" she asked, when the man started toward the back of the house.  
  
"Someone you're already acquainted with," he replied over his shoulder, "I don't want to ruin the surprise. Dinner will be brought to Jarod at seven, and served in the main dining room for the rest of us. Please, do not be late."  
  
*********  
  
She stared at the door, long after he was gone, his threat still echoing in her ears.   
  
"The best you can hope for, now, is that I don't kill him in front of you."  
  
Shaking her head, she turned away, slowly sitting on the edge of the bed and bringing the overstuffed pillow to her lap. Since being abducted, they had asked her repeatedly about the scrolls, doing everything from bargaining with her to threatening her, and she had said nothing. At first, she had been too weak to respond, too feverish to understand what they wanted; but, as the night wore on, and the drugs they gave her pushed away her memories and guilt, she slept. For the first time, in years, she slept without dreams, without nightmares. And, when she woke, in the early hours of the morning, she was still feverish, but coherent enough to understand what had happened and what they wanted.   
  
She bought herself time, hoping to use her illness to her advantage, hoping to find an escape before they forced the truth from her. She exaggerated her pain, flinching and crying out at the slightest touch. When they spoke to her, she gazed over their shoulders at a blank spot on the wall, responding to them by calling out for her husband and her children; allowing real tears to surface as she pretended to relive the night she was separated from each of them. When they gave her pills, she obediently swallowed some and palmed the others, knowing they would do nothing more than make her rest.   
  
In the time she made for herself, she began to develop an escape plan. Admittedly, it was still in its early stages, dependent on their belief she was too weak to defend herself, too helpless to even consider retaliation, and too confused to formulate a plan; but, she believed it would have worked.   
  
Now, however, they managed to do the one thing she had not anticipated: they brought in her son.  
  
"Why aren't you still in the hospital, unidentified and being properly cared for?" she whispered. "How did they find you so quickly?"  
  
She knew the answers to her questions didn't matter, all that mattered was finding a way of protecting Jarod. Their captors knew she and her son had been together and they believed she had shared the secret; when, in fact, she had not. If she continued her charade, letting them think she was unable, or unwilling, to tell them what they wanted to know, they would turn to Jarod. They would threaten him, threaten her well-being, do whatever was necessary to force the information from her son, information he did not have.  
  
Hugging the pillow to her chest, she remembered the hours before her capture, when she had gone to the river. Intent on recovering the metal box that held the scrolls and her bible before the authorities, she arrived at the scene to find Catherine's daughter pacing thoughtfully up and down the bank of the river. Though she had no idea why the younger woman was there, or what she was doing, she had watched from the bushes until it appeared that the brunette had given up her quest.   
  
She waited for almost fifteen minutes before she emerged from her hiding place, but she didn't wait long enough. After only a few steps from the bushes, she saw Miss Parker moving back to the shore, the beam of her flashlight alternating between the wreckage in the water and the hole in the bridge. Slowly, the younger woman unwittingly began moving toward her and, in a panic, she turned to run, making a conscious decision to leave the metal box where it was rather than take the chance she might, once again, come face to face with the woman who had chased her son for almost seven years. It was at that desperate moment that she had slipped in the mud, her hand jamming painfully against a nearby rock. She bit back the cry of pain but, in her hurry to distance herself from the approaching Miss Parker, she had not felt the ring slip from her finger.  
  
As she looked at the empty hand, she wondered where it was, then quickly put the thought out of her mind. There were more important matters to think about. Raising her eyes to the window, she watched the snow coming down in soft, heavy flakes and thought about Jarod. If she left without him, she put him at risk; if she stayed, and told her captors what they wanted to know, she put in him danger. After eliminating two of her options, she knew what she had to do.  
  
Taking a deep breath, she slipped her hand into the pillow case and retrieved the stash of pills, spilling them onto the bed. Nine pills. She hoped it would be enough.  
  
*********  
  
The gurney was rolled to the foot of the steps where, grudgingly, Victor reached under Jarod's arm and helped him to his feet. With the sweeper on one side and Sydney on the other, the Pretender took the stairs slowly, more for the opportunity to inspect his surroundings than because of his strength. Half way up, he spotted the woman sweeper standing vigil in front of a room to the left of the landing. Though she refused to meet his gaze, the woman stiffened as Jarod was deposited into a wheelchair.  
  
Placing his hand on Jarod's shoulder, he pulled the man back, holding him against the chair as he moved it toward the end of the hall. Understanding the unspoken threat, Jarod was silent, swallowing the urge to question why the room needed a guard. Besides, it didn't matter. He knew exactly why the room was guarded and who was being kept inside.   
  
Victor stepped in front of the wheelchair long enough to push the thick oak door open, then wheeled Jarod inside. Leaving the Pretender in the middle of the room, he looked at Miss Parker and motioned toward the door.  
  
"I'll be outside."  
  
She nodded, waiting until the man was gone and the door closed tightly behind him before turning back to Jarod.  
  
"I know what you're thinking, but we can't do anything about it tonight," she hissed, sliding her arm under his shoulder.  
  
"I have to get inside that room, Parker," he argued, keeping his voice low.   
  
"Later," she replied, "We still don't know who we're dealing with. In the morning . ."  
  
"The morning is too late," he interrupted, moving away from the two and settling on the Queen sized bed. Pulling the blankets around his shoulders, he stared at them. "I need to know she's all right. Now, give me those clothes."  
  
"No."  
  
"What?" he stared at the brunette as she moved away, hugging the bundle of clothes under her arm. "I'm freezing, Parker. I need to get out of these wet things."  
  
"So, go ahead. Nobody is stopping you."  
  
He looked from the woman to Sydney and then back again, when he saw the small smirk playing on the old man's lips.   
  
"Give me the clothes," he growled.  
  
"What part of 'no' did you not understand?" she snapped, moving toward the door. "Now, if you don't want to catch pneumonia, I suggest you dry yourself off and get between the sheets. Sydney will help you."  
  
"You're not serious. You're not going to leave me here without any clothes, are you?"  
  
"The way I see it, I don't have a choice. As long as I have these, I know you'll be here .. in bed, where you belong. I'll be in to check on you in a few hours," she said, pulling the door open, "in the meantime, get some rest."  
  
"Parker . . PARKER!"  
  
*********  
  
TBC 


	7. Part 7

Note: I want to thank all of you for the feedback. You're wonderful! This part is a little shorter than I intended, but it seemed a good place to end it. If RL and my muse cooperate, there may be another part to this story in the next week or so but I'm not promising. Thanks again!

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty 

Part 7

by imagine

Closing the door, Miss Parker ignored Jarod's voice angrily calling out to her and faced Victor, who was standing guard. She handed him the keys to her rental and ordered him to bring her the bags that were still stowed in the trunk. When the sweeper hesitated, shooting an unsure glance at Jarod's room, she shook her head and sighed loudly.

"Are you capable of logical thought?" she snapped. Holding up the parcel of clothes that were still tucked under her arm, she continued in an irritated voice, "Exactly how far do you think he'd get without these? Now, I want to take a shower and change my clothes. Bring me my things!"

Then, without allowing the man a chance to respond, Miss Parker turned on her heel and entered her the room that had been designated as hers. Unlike Jarod's room, which held nothing more than a bed with an wrought iron headboard and a low, three drawer dresser made of Oak veneer, the furniture in her room was ornately decorated and appeared to be hand carved from high quality Maple. 

Depositing the bundle of clothes at the edge of the four-poster bed, she opened the closet door and each drawer in the desk and highboy, searching for surveillance devices. These were her private chambers, at least for tonight, and she had no intention of allowing the Centre to keep a record of her movements. When she found the tiny camera propped against the edge of the beveled mirror, she grinned and pulled it from its source. A second camera was found in the bathroom, attached to the lip of the medicine cabinet; and a third was found in the elaborately twisted valance above the window beside the bed.

Sliding all three devices into her pocket, she turned her attention on the falling snow. Jarod was right; morning would be too late to make a move. At the rate the snow was falling, all roads in the area would be completely buried before morning. She stared at the rental car parked forty yards away, then at the heavy gray clouds and shook her head. If they had any chance of escaping, they had to do it tonight; they weren't going to have time to scrape snow and ice off their car first. Making a mental note to check out the vehicles in the garage, she turned away from the window when there was a knock at her door.

Her long strides swallowed the room easily and, when she opened the door, she found Victor standing miserably in the hall. Melting snow dripped from his hair, his face was red from the cold and his gloves and jacket were crusted with ice. He let both bags slide from his shoulder and deposited them wordlessly just inside her door; but, before he could turn away, Miss Parker grabbed the man by the arm and made him face her.

"Remind your boss that I am the Chairman's daughter. If I find any more of these in my room," she hissed, pressing the three surveillance devices into his palm, "I will not only rip it out, I will find him and do the same to his throat. Got it?"

Without a word, Victor nodded and was still staring dumbly at her when she closed the door in his face.

*********

The sweeper stepped in announced, his eyes roaming the room curiously before settling on the Pretender. Huddled under the blankets, Jarod looked up only long enough to scowl and drop his head back to the pillows. 

"What do you want?"

"Where's the other guy?"

"If you mean Sydney, he went to his room." 

"I didn't see him leave."

Jarod raised his head and glared at the man. "Then you need to go back to Sweeper School, or wherever the hell it is that they train you guys, because he left a few minutes ago. From the looks of you, you were probably outside knocking down snowmen at the time."

"So you're here alone," the man verified, ignoring the sarcasm.

"No, but I would prefer to be," he replied tiredly.

Removing his damp jacket and gloves, Victor tossed the garments on to the foot of Jarod's bed, returning the Pretender's annoyed look with one that was much more dangerous as he started around the room. Jarod shifted under the blankets, sliding his legs to a dryer spot and watched silently as the sweeper opened the closet door. Finding the small space empty, Victor crossed to the window and pulled at it, confirming that it was still sealed shut before retrieving his things and heading for the door.

"Just remember what I told you," he warned when Jarod propped himself up on his elbows, "behave yourself and we won't have any problems."

"I hate to disappoint you, we're definitely going to have problems," Jarod responded, "In fact, I can guarantee it."

Raising an eyebrow, the man smiled darkly and nodded. "Good."

*********

After exchanging the wool pants and jacket for jeans and a heavy sweater, Miss Parker left her room intent on searching the safe house. Though it had been a Centre property for decades, she had never set foot inside the house and was curious about the secrets as well as the answers it might hold. 

She found Victor sitting dutifully between her room and Jarod's, his arms folded across his chest and his expression as hard as would be expected. With barely a nod in his direction, she started down the hall. 

During his sweep of the mainframe for the status of nearby safe havens, Broots had discovered this safe house was being used as the headquarters for an operation named Prophecy. Though he had been unable to determine anything else, and promised to continue searching, Miss Parker had made the decision to put Jarod's plan in motion. She called the Centre from Jarod's hospital room, telling them she needed a place to keep the Pretender until the airport opened, expecting them to route her to an empty house located two hours from the hospital. Armed with Jarod's illness and his importance to the Centre, she was prepared to argue against being sent such a distance and force her way into the middle of operation Prophecy. To her surprise, however, she was never given the opportunity because, upon hearing she had Jarod in custody, she received detailed driving directions to this house and hearty congratulations from the Director's assistant, but was never advised it was already occupied.

At the top of her list of things to do was discovering who Cox's mysterious associate was and what they were up to. In a close second, was determining if Jarod's mother was as much of a victim in all of this as he believed she was. As she approached the room they believed held Jarod's mother, Miss Parker could not help wondering if Margaret had a connection to Prophecy, or if her presence was due purely to her relationship to Jarod. 

"Parker, where are you going?"

She stopped at the top of the stairs, in front of the female guard, and turned to face the psychiatrist. Waiting until he caught up with her, she replied, "I'm just going for a walk. I want to check a few things out."

"What about Jarod?"

"What about him?"

"His clothes, Parker," the older man growled, "You can't leave him like that indefinitely."

"I don't see why not," she shrugged, "he's definitely got the body for it."

"Parker, really . ."

"Oh, relax, will you?" she snapped, "I have no intention of leaving him in his birthday suit forever. I'll give him his clothes when I get back, all right?"

"Why not give them to him now?"

"Because I don't want him underfoot," she hissed, "Besides, weren't you the one who said he should rest? This way, he's got no alternative but to stay in bed so why don't you go sing him a lullaby, or something? I have work to do."

*********

Emma stared at the note for what seemed like the hundredth time and then shoved it back into her pocket. 

__

First, for your safety, as well as Jarod's, do not tell anyone what you and I discussed regarding his mother or the accident. Second, this card has my private number, call me if anyone asks questions about me or Jarod. 

There was no denying that she had liked Jarod and Miss Parker, but she wasn't sure she liked them enough to allow herself to get dragged into some twisted drama. Besides, it had been the police who showed up looking for Jarod, and all they wanted was to return something they had uncovered at the accident and to ask a few follow up questions. There was nothing suspicious or sinister about them, nothing for Jarod or Miss Parker to be concerned about. 

She glanced at the note again, unsure. Finally, Emma made up her mind and, picking up the telephone, quickly dialed the number on the card. On the first ring, she held her breath. On the second ring, she told herself she was doing the right thing. On the third ring, she told herself she should hang up. On the fourth ring, the call was answered.

"Hello?"

"Um, I'm sorry," Emma apologized, hearing the male voice. Glancing at the card in her hand, she shook her head, and added, "I must have misdialed."

"Is this Emma?"

She hesitated, glancing nervously around the nurse's station before nodding. "Yes, but . . how did you know?"

"I'm a friend of Miss Parker's," he told her, "She said you might call." 

*********

After exploring the house for almost an hour, she found that, aside from the kitchen, a large library at the west end of the building, and a door that led to the basement, the rooms on the first floor were locked. When she asked, a woman in the kitchen told her that the dining room would be open an hour before dinner and not a moment sooner. 

"And the other rooms?" Parker demanded, "There are three other locked doors here."

"I don't know anything about the other rooms," the woman answered, returning to her duties, "You'll have to ask Mr. Cox."

Though she was annoyed, Miss Parker decided to make the most of the situation. Stepping into the library, she started by scanning the dusty books lining the walls with cynical curiosity. The fact that the room held hundreds of books ranging from science and genealogy to history and religion was not a surprise; however, despite the amount of information it contained, she had the feeling nothing it held would answer her questions. 

"Are you looking for something in particular, Miss Parker?"

Sliding her hand across the volumes in front of her, she scanned each of the titles before turning to face the man. "Impressive selection, Cox. Some of these are First Editions."

"And this surprises you?"

"Not really," she sighed, watching him make himself comfortable on one of the leather chairs beside the fireplace. "The Centre has always had a thirst for knowledge. The problem is that this room is missing something."

"And what would that be?"

"The truth."

*********

"Hello?" she called, knocking on the door, "Is someone out there? Please."

Stepping back as the door opened inward, Margaret slid her hand into the pocket of her sweater and anxiously fingered the pills. She smiled at the young woman who appeared, then took another step back. "Thank you. I was beginning to think I'd been abandoned."

The sweeper glanced up and down the hall, then shook her head. "Hardly. What do you need?"

"To see my son."

"I'm sorry," the woman answered, backing into the hall, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Wait!" she rushed toward the woman then stopped a few feet from the door. "Please, don't leave. I know you brought him here on a stretcher. I saw you," she insisted, pointing toward the window. "I just need to make sure he's all right."

"I don't have the auth . ."

Holding up her hand, Margaret interrupted the woman then, hugging herself started back toward the bed. "I know I shouldn't be asking, it's just that . . he's my son. He was taken from me when he was four and . ." she sighed again and let her words fade. Shaking her head, she leaned against the bed and faced the other woman. 

"What's your name?" she asked softly.

"Jenna."

"Pretty name," Margaret smiled, sliding on to the bed. "Do you have any children, Jenna?"

"No."

"Nieces, nephews?"

Jenna hesitated, then nodded. "I have a nephew."

"How old is he?"

"Twelve."

"Do you have any pictures?"

She nodded. "A few."

"May I see them, Jenna? Please?"

Again, Jenna hesitated, then glanced up and down the hall before stepping further into the room and closing the door. Reaching into the inside pocket of her jacket, she retrieved a small wallet and held it out.

"His name is Paul."

"Paul is a good looking boy," Margaret commented, flipping through the three other photos in the wallet. "Is this him as a toddler?"

Jenna nodded and reached for the wallet, frowning when Margaret turned away. 

"He looks about six in this photo," she commented, her back to the sweeper. "He's adorable. What would you do if you knew he was sick, or hurt .."

"I can't let you see your son," Jenna interrupted angrily. Stepping forward, she grabbed the wallet from Margaret's hands and slipped it into her jacket pocket. "That was a pretty lame attempt, by the way. Did you really think I would . ."

Looking up, Margaret met the sweeper's hard gaze with one that was soft and glistening with tears. "Please."

*********

After leaving the library, and Cox, she continued down the hall to the attached garage. Luckily, the entrance was one that was not locked and Miss Parker smiled at the assortment of vehicles at her disposal. Ambling down the narrow aisles that separated them, she peered into each tinted window like a kid standing outside a toy store at Christmas. Finally, deciding to the luxury cars were impractical considering the weather, she pulled at the driver's side door of a Ford Expedition and made her decision. As luck would have it, the keys were in the car. 

When she returned to the house, a mere ten minutes later, she found the library empty. At first, his absence meant nothing; but, as she continued toward the Great Room and the wooden staircase, she could hear his voice floating down from the second floor. Quickening her pace, Miss Parker stopped when she saw the door to Margaret's room was slightly ajar and, though she couldn't see the faces, Cox's smooth patronizing tone was unmistakable.

"Jarod is here," he admitted, "but, until you tell us what we need to know, he is off limits. If you are not willing to share the information, for the sake of your son, maybe he will be willing to do so for your sake."

"He doesn't know anything," she complained.

Ignoring Margaret, he turned to the sweeper, "I am surprised at you, Jenna. You know better than to bother me with matters that you have already given instruction."

"Yes, Sir," the woman nodded, "but, she seemed . ."

"I don't care how she seemed," the man blustered, "you were told to be cautious around her. You were warned that she might attempt to use your emotions against you and you insisted you could handle the situation if it arose. Obviously, you overestimated your own abilities and this will be noted in your permanent file."

"Oooh, the dreaded permanent file. If I were you, Jenna, I would start shaking in my boots," Miss Parker said, stepping into the room. "What the hell is the problem here, Cox?"

"Miss Parker," he groaned, "what are you doing here? This is a private discussion."

"Then you should learn to close doors," she replied. Then, shifting her gaze from the man to Margaret as the woman pushed her hand into the pocket of her sweater. She watched the woman's fist clench inside the pocket and then met the woman's eyes. "So, what is it you want?"

"To see my son," she repeated.

"And, in return, are you willing to part with whatever it is Cox is foaming at the mouth about?"

Her eyes widened and, after looking between each of the Centre operatives, Margaret sighed and nodded. "Once I know Jarod is safe, I'll tell you what you want to know."

"Unacceptable."

She turned her attention on the man, folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. "I'm sorry, did someone ask you for your opinion? You had your shot at negotiations and you blew it. Besides, Jarod is my responsibility and if I say he can visit with Mommy, then he can visit with Mommy."

"Allowing the two of them in the same room, alone, is asking for trouble, Miss Parker."

"Who the hell said they would be alone?" she dared. "We have two reasonably intelligent Sweepers at our disposal, Cox. Use them, damn it. Put them in the room with Jarod and his mother; have them record the conversation. Use your head, will you?"

"She has a point," a male voice added from behind, "Allow the four of them to have dinner together; but, not in this room and not in Jarod's. You need a third room, one that has been stripped of all furnishings and has a working security system still in place. If you do not underestimate either of them, you should be safe."

Spinning in place, Miss Parker stared at the man who entered and instinctively reached for her automatic. "Alex."

*********


	8. Part 8

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty

by imagine

Part 8/?

He released a soft moan and she brushed her fingers through his hair once more, trying to gently bring him back to the conscious world. Knowing everything he had been through, and how badly he needed the rest, she almost felt guilty about waking him. However, Alex's resurrection, and Margaret's reaction to him, was more than enough reason for Miss Parker to interrupt Jarod's sleep.

"Come on, Jarod," she whispered, sliding the outside of her hand down the side of his face, "it's time to wake up. Open your eyes."

The Pretender stirred, turning his face into her touch and smiling softly as he nuzzled her palm. She did not pull away from the stubbled caress, opting instead to run her free hand through his hair and repeat her whispered command. When he refused to obey, she frowned, dropped her hands to his shoulders and shook the man. In his sleep, Jarod waved her away, released another deep moan, and then rolled to his side.

"He's not waking up. Why is he not waking up?" she demanded, glaring over her shoulder at the guard. "Has he been drugged?"

"I was told to keep him quiet. Mr. Cox gave me authorization to . ."

"I don't give a damn what you were told or what Mr. Cox gave you," she snapped, moving quickly from the bed, "I want to know what you gave Jarod and I want to know now."

Flustered, the man retrieved a small bottle from the pocket of his jacket and held it out to her. "I was told to keep him quiet," the man repeated defensively, "to make sure . ."

"How many did you give him?" she asked, staring at the pills inside the copper tinted bottle.

The man shrugged and glanced at Jarod, then replied "One."

Drawing her eyes from the bottle, Miss Parker looked at Jarod, then at the man in front of her, locking him in an icy stare.

"Okay, okay, maybe it was two. No more than three," he admitted, adding quickly, "But, it's not like he tried to refuse, or anything."

"You expect me to believe Jarod took sleeping pills willingly?" she dared.

"I don't care what you believe," he retorted, taking a confident breath, "Mr. Cox hired me to keep an eye on the Pretender and make sure he didn't cause any trouble. That's what I did."

Despite the fact the man was six inches taller and outweighed her by more than one hundred pounds, when Victor finished his speech by placing his hands on his hips, Miss Parker clutched a handful of his shirt in her hand and pushed the man against the closed door. Her eyes flashed with anger and her muscles tensed in preparation for a move she silently challenged him to make; but the guard did not struggle. Startled by her attack, he did nothing but stare at her, unsure of his next move.

"You have a very short memory, Victor, I've told you once already that Jarod is not your job. He's mine," she hissed, "Say it with me ... Jarod is Miss Parker's responsibility."

"Jarod is Miss Parker's responsibility," he repeated, his eyes darting from the woman to Jarod and then back again.

"Good. Now, listen very carefully, because I have no intention of ever repeating myself: Jarod is not the one you need to worry about causing you trouble. Do you understand what I'm telling you, Victor?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Whose responsibility is Jarod?" she quizzed.

"Yours."

"Who is the only person authorized to make decisions regarding Jarod?"

He swallowed hard and nodded. "You."

"Good. There's hope for you yet. Now, go get the wheelchair," she ordered. Releasing him, she stepped away from the door, adding, "And, while you're out and about, tell Sydney I want to see him."

With only a split second of hesitation, Victor peeled himself from the door and quickly disappeared into the hall. She waited until she heard the latch click into place, then moved back to the bed. Jarod's breaths were deep and even; and, as she sat on the edge of the bed, his head rocked toward her, but his eyes remained closed. She watched him for a moment; her head tilted to one side as his face twitched under the weight of her gaze and, finally, when Jarod let out a soft moan, Miss Parker leaned over him.

Placing her mouth beside his ear, she purposely blocked the camera's view of his face and whispered, "You are, and always will be, a troublemaker."

He groaned again, shifting his position beneath her so that his hand was on top of hers as it opened. When he felt her fingers close around the three pills he had palmed earlier, Jarod replied softly, "And you are a troublemaker's best friend."

When Sydney arrived, he found Jarod leaning heavily into Miss Parker, using her body for support, while he eased himself into a sitting position. The blanket that once shielded Jarod's upper body slipped from place, causing the man to shiver slightly while revealing taut muscles in his shoulders and arms. His face was set in stony concentration, determined to complete what should have been a simple task; but Sydney saw the exertion in his protégé's movements.

"What is going on here?" he demanded, crossing to the younger man's side, "Jarod, you shouldn't be up. Parker, you know he needs to rest."

"Well, he's not going to get it here. I'm taking him to my room."

"What?"

"The door has a lock on the inside, as well as on the outside."

Puzzled, the older man looked at Jarod as he tried to maneuver into the waiting wheel chair. After a split second, he reached for the man, sliding his arm around Jarod's back to support his weight for the few awkward steps. When Jarod was finally situated, with a blanket laid across his lap and around his shoulders, the psychiatrist took a step back and asked, "Do you really believe that Cox will approve of . ."

"I couldn't care less what Cox approves of," she interrupted, pushing the bottle of sleeping pills into the man's hand, "Jarod is much to valuable to the Centre to put him at risk of an over dose."

Sydney stared at the bottle for a moment, his eyes widening as he read the name of the narcotic. "Jarod, who gave these to you?" the psychiatrist asked, urgency slipping into his voice. "How many did you take?"

"Enough for me to have trouble waking him," Miss Parker answered, moving behind the wheel chair. Her hands slipped on to Jarod's shoulders, pulling the unresisting man gently against the back of the chair while continuing in a irritated tone, "They were given to him, by the ape standing guard in the hall, without my authorization. Now, are you going to just stand there, or are you going to do something productive and open the door?"

Victor stood and pushed back his chair as the trio emerged from Jarod's room. The idea that the woman had, once again, intimidated him did not sit well with the Sweeper. He didn't care that she was the Chairman's daughter. He didn't care that she had once been the head of Security. All he cared about was recapturing his pride and humiliating her; though he had not yet figured out the best way to achieve his goal.

The psychiatrist was the first to enter the hall. His eyes darted toward Victor dismissively then back to the man in the wheel chair. Though Jarod's eyes were closed and his head rested on the back of the chair, the guard heard him murmur something about wanting to sleep. Taking the time to reposition the blanket that covered his patient, Sydney responded with a nod of his head and a promise that Jarod could nap later then quickly moved to open the door to Miss Parker's room.

Turning the back of the chair toward the bedroom door, Miss Parker looked up from Jarod long enough to meet Victor's gaze. Without dropping her eyes, she pulled the Pretender across the threshold, then let the door close without a word.

While he waited for Miss Parker to complete a sweep for surveillance devices in the room, Sydney silently took Jarod's pulse, checked his eyes and listened to his heart. Shaking his head at the results, he shot the younger man a curious look and moved to the other side of the room.

"I'm sorry to have worried you, Sydney."

"You didn't swallow anything."

Jarod shook his head and pushed himself upright in the chair. "Victor thinks I did, so I had to keep up the charade."

Though the Pretender hid it well, Sydney saw him wince in pain and then drop his arm to his ribs. "Your body is trying to tell you to slow down, Jarod. I can give you something for the pain," he offered.

"No," he snapped. Then, softening his tone, continued, "I know you want to help, Sydney, but I can't take anything that might affect my judgment. There is too much at stake."

"I understand that you're anxious to find your mother and get out of here, but you have to trust that Miss Parker and I . ."

"My mother is here," Jarod interrupted. His voice was strong, but his eyes were filled with pain and his face was speckled with perspiration as he gazed up at his mentor. "Parker saw her in the room at the top of the stairs and Alex was with her."

Startled by the name, Sydney moved to Jarod's side. "Alex is alive?"

"He's the associate Cox mentioned," Miss Parker answered, entering from the bathroom, "Apparently, he's the one who brought Margaret here. She has some information and . ."

"They're using me against her, Sydney," Jarod finished. There was no indication that he felt any type of physical pain but, suddenly, his voice faltered and each word became softer than the one before. "They're threatening me, to make her tell them what they want to know. I have to stop them."

Without realizing he had allowed it, Jarod was soon resting against his mentor's chest like a child being comforted after a fall. While on his knees beside the chair, Sydney held the younger man in a secure but gentle embrace and promised that everything would work out for the best. When he felt Jarod nod against him, the psychiatrist slowly brought his gaze on the woman standing over him.

Pulling the blanket around Jarod's shoulders, he asked, "What is your plan?"

"Alex and Cox have agreed to allow Jarod and his mother to have dinner together, but she can't see him like this. If she thinks he's vulnerable, and that she's to blame, she might give up her secrets, thinking it's the only way to keep him safe."

"I understand," the man nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"I will help Jarod get cleaned up, shaved and dressed; you go stay with Margaret. I need you to make sure she understands that we're here to help, tell her as much as you can about Jarod and that he's worried about her. Whatever you do, though, don't leave her side until they come to take her to the dinner."

"Of course, but what happens . .?"

Waving away the rest of his question, Miss Parker gripped the handles of the chair and pulled it backward. "Just do it, Syd, and let me worry about the rest. We only have a little more than an hour before they come to take Jarod and Margaret for dinner."

Rising to his feet, Sydney nodded and let Jarod slip from his grasp.

"Make sure she knows I'm all right," Jarod said. "I do not want her worrying about me."

"She's your mother," Sydney smiled, "I doubt I will be able to take all her fears away."

"Try."

Nodding, the older man turned away. When he reached the door, however, he faced them again, watching Miss Parker drag the chair and its occupant into the attached bathroom.

"Be careful," he said.

Miss Parker looked up and nodded at the older man, then closed the bathroom door.

She left him in the middle of the large bathroom and moved toward the walk-in shower, twisted the gold knob on the wall and tested the water with the back of her hand. Before returning to Jarod's side, though, she pulled a small bench from beneath the vanity, draped it with two large bath towels and set it inside the shower.

A large crystal pitcher of flowers stood on the shelf above the toilet. Glancing only briefly at Jarod, Miss Parker reached for the vase. Leaving the blooms on the shelf, she quickly rinsed the container and placed it in the corner of the shower. Satisfied, Miss Parker finally faced the man and gave him a crooked smile, in response to his confusion.

"So, are you ready?"

Jarod's eyes were trained tiredly on Miss Parker, and his mind was racing with questions; but he nodded in agreement. Once again, she was helping him and he still had no clue as to her motive. Though he doubted he would deny anything she asked in return, he wanted to know where all of this was leading. He wanted to know why she had turned up in his hospital room and why she was going out of her way to not only protect him, but to reunite him with his mother.

Before he could formulate a question, though, Miss Parker slipped out of her sweater and jeans, carefully folding them and laying them across the vanity. Her movements effectively distracted him from his thoughts. His eyes slowly followed the curves of her lean body, lingering over the lace-trimmed panties and bra until he heard her clear her throat. Startled, he looked up, into the sparkling blue eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"Precisely what I said I would. I'm helping you."

"With what, exactly?"

"You didn't think I was going to let you take a shower by yourself, did you? Forgetting about the fact that you can barely stand, you're not exactly breaking any speed records these days. We have very little time to make you presentable."

"I can manage."

"My way is faster."

Without allowing him another word of protest, Miss Parker leaned over and wrapped an arm around Jarod's bare back. Her free hand slipped around his abdomen and, carefully, she urged the man to his feet.

"Trust me, Jarod," she whispered, when he grabbed the shower door for support, "I know what I'm doing."

By the time he was settled on the bench, Jarod was trembling. Though part of her wanted to believe it was due to their close proximity, Miss Parker knew otherwise. He was exhausted and, despite the fact he did not swallow the pills Victor forced on him, Jarod still had a fair amount of drugs running through his veins. It had been less than forty-eight hours since he was found at the bank of the river and, in that time, he had suffered from high fevers, hallucinations and a sweeper with something to prove.

Standing behind him, out of the stream of the water, Miss Parker began by soaping Jarod's hair. Her fingers slid through the dark locks easily, gently massaging his scalp while he gradually relaxed to her touch. She used the pitcher to rinse his hair, pouring warm water slowly over his head, while Jarod shielded his eyes from the cascading shampoo.

The heat of the shower warmed the room quickly and, soon, steam curled around them. Jarod's breathing became less labored, his muscles less taut and, as Miss Parker ran a soapy washcloth down his back, she felt the quick but steady rhythm of his heart and smiled. From behind, she washed his neck, his chest and his arms with careful, even strokes; managing to soften her touch when she crossed bruised sections of his body.

When the washcloth slipped lower on his body, though, Jarod placed his hand over hers.

"I think it's best if I take it from here," he whispered.

"What are you doing here?"

Sydney rose from his chair and stepped in front of Margaret, shielding her from the new arrival. "I could ask you the same question. If I remember correctly, you are supposed to be dead."

"You should know, by now, Sydney, that death is a temporary condition when the Centre is involved."

"Not always."

The man grinned and moved further into the room, circling the psychiatrist with an amused grin. "Was that a threat?"

"Just an observation."

"I see," he nodded, shifting his eyes to the woman. "You've always been good at making observations, haven't you, Sydney? I suppose that's what you're doing here, now, isn't it? Taking a moment to closely observe the mother of the child you trained?"

Sydney saw Margaret stiffen and, though she took a step back, putting distance between her and Alex, he saw something in her face that reminded him of Jarod. Recognizing the defiance and controlled anger, he stepped to her side and glared at the younger man.

"You have told her about your .. relationship .. with her son, haven't you? How you observed him over the years; how you manipulated him and . . "

"Margaret is quite aware of my connection to Jarod."

"Connection," he repeated, his eyes never leaving the woman as he continued the bantering with Sydney. "Is that what you're calling it?"

"Why are you here?" the older man demanded.

"I asked you first," he responded, pulling his attention away from the woman. "And, in case you missed it, I'm the one in charge here."

"Is that so? Have you explained your ranking to Cox?" Sydney goaded, "I think he might be interested, since he's the one who gave me permission to visit with Margaret."

"When did he do that?"

"About twenty minutes ago, if you must know," he sighed, then moving closer to the man, added in a low voice, "I explained to him that, because of my connection with Jarod, I might have a better chance of getting her to open up. That is what you want, isn't it?"

Alex was silent.

"I thought so. Now," he said, waving toward the door, "if you don't mind, Margaret and I were in the middle of a conversation. Say what you came to say, or leave."

Miss Parker moved into the other room and dressed; but her thoughts remained with him. Leaving him alone was the last thing she had wanted to do and, though her instinct had been to argue with him, the look on his face and the warmth in her gut made her suppressed the urge. It had not occurred to her that, in his present state and considering there past relationship, Jarod might have difficulty being close to her.

In addition, thoughts she hadn't had since she was a teenager were suddenly forefront in her mind; fantasies she thought had faded with childhood were now making her body ache. Suddenly, it was obvious that he needed his privacy as badly as she did.

Admittedly, she had gone into this thing for selfish reasons; wanting to reignite the friendship they'd had as children, in hopes they could help each other answer questions that were still unanswered. The problem was, they were no longer children. They were adults with demons and fears few would understand.

As she stared at the closed bathroom door, she hoped her decision to join forces with him would not lead to something that might backfire and leave them both alone for the rest of their lives.

TBC

feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)

A/N - Thanks to everyone who sent me emails asking for me to continue this story. I know this part has been a long time coming. I promise, Jarod and his mother will meet in the next part which, hopefully, will be later this month.


	9. Part 9

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
by imagine  
  
part 9/?  
  
"Where is he?" she asked. "Where is Jarod, right now?"  
  
"In a room at the end of the hall. I promise, he is quite comfortable."  
  
"You're sure he's all right?"  
  
"His injuries will heal. Jarod is a strong man," Sydney said.  
  
Keeping her back to him and her eyes focused on the snow fall, Margaret nodded. She wanted to believe him. Despite the fact he had been one of those responsible for keeping her son away from her for four decades, she wanted to believe that this man cared about Jarod and would not lie to her about his well being. There was no denying, however, that he was an agent of the Centre and, in her experience, almost everyone associated with the Centre was untrustworthy. The operative word being 'almost'.  
  
"He is much stronger than, I think, even he realizes," he added, when the silence consumed them again.  
  
Slowly pivoting away from the window, she faced Sydney with an almost too calm expression. "Correct me if I'm wrong; but, Jarod has never had a choice to be anything but strong, has he?"  
  
Sydney was silent, lowering his eyes from her gaze.  
  
"He told me about you," she said softly. When the psychiatrist looked up, she turned back to the window. "He didn't have a chance to tell me much, but he said you took care of him. He said you protected him when you could."  
  
"I tried."  
  
"Then I suppose I should thank you."  
  
"No, you shouldn't."  
  
Still watching the snow, she nodded. "You're right."  
  
There was a long silence as the two fell into their own thoughts. Other than the fact that he had been Jarod's caretaker and mentor, Margaret knew nothing about her visitor. She knew she should question him, test his honesty by asking questions she already knew the answers to; but, for some reason, she could not make herself waste the time. There were legitimate questions, things she needed to know, weighing heavily on her thoughts and, at the moment, Sydney was the only hope she had of getting information.  
  
"How did you find us so quickly?"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Jarod and I were together for less than twenty four hours when we were run off the road."  
  
"I don't know who ran you off the road," he admitted, "or how they knew you and Jarod were together. Miss Parker found Jarod in the hospital. She would have to explain how that came to be."  
  
She considered his reply then took a deep breath.   
  
Sydney watched the woman carefully. She kept her back to him, but he could see both hands were buried in the pockets of her sweater and pulled in front of her. If her red hair had been left loose, it would have easily reached the middle of her back; but, instead, Margaret wore it in a tight, unadorned pony tail. She kept her head held high, and her shoulders back, but, in the short time he had to observe her, Margaret's perfect posture was marred by what appeared to be nervous habits. Without realizing she was doing it, the woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other several times while the muscles in her upper arm twitched impatiently, a subconscious demand for physical and emotional release.   
  
He remembered Jarod's plea to ease his mother's fears; but, for the life of him, Sydney had no idea how to accomplish the feat. It was obvious, to him, that Margaret was carrying an excess of anxiousness and fear.  
  
"Where is Catherine's daughter now?"  
  
"Miss Parker is with Jarod," he told her, adding, "He's in good hands but, not knowing how you are is taking its toll."  
  
For the first time, Margaret lowered her head and Sydney saw her shoulders slump forward slightly. After a moment, she shook her head, took a deep breath and faced him.   
  
"I don't want him worrying about me," she said.  
  
Sydney smiled softly. "He said the exact same thing about you, not more than fifteen minutes ago."  
  
Returning the smile, Margaret let it fade quickly and moved to the bed. When she was situated on the edge of the mattress, she asked, "When can I see him?"  
  
"I was told someone would come for you at seven," Sydney replied. "We have about forty minutes."  
  
"We?" she repeated. "Were you planning on staying with me until they arrive?"  
  
"With your permission."  
  
Stiffening, she narrowed her eyes and asked, "Why are you here, Sydney? What do you want from me?"  
  
"I don't want anything from you."  
  
She looked at him suspiciously, cocking her head to one side as she considered his offer. "I repeat, why are you here?"  
  
"I thought I might be able to tell you about Jarod."  
  
======================================================================  
  
She watched the door closely, the muscles in her neck and back getting tighter with each passing moment. Flashes of him laying unconscious on the floor came to her in regular intervals, but it was a soft, calming voice at the back of her mind that told her to stay put. He needed the chance to review everything that had happened, everything that had brought them to this point, and he needed time to formulate his part of the escape plan; but, more than anything, Jarod needed his privacy to consider her actions.   
  
Suddenly, they were no longer huntress and prey; they were no longer estranged childhood friends; they were something else - something she could not label. Though she had only meant to help, by stepping into the shower with him, she had crossed a line she had temporarily forgotten existed. As a result, she had blurred the boundaries of their relationship forever.  
  
Jarod stepped out of the bathroom, pushing the wheelchair with one hand while the other buttoned the flap over his breast pocket. Though his balance did not seem dependent on the chair, she stood and moved toward him. Immediately, the man shook his head and held out a hand, stopping her only a few feet from where she began.   
  
"I can manage," he said.  
  
"Just don't over do it," she warned when he stopped in front of her, "It's going to be a long night."  
  
He nodded and took a step back. Lowering his eyes, he concentrated on fastening the last three buttons on his shirt then adjusted the white T-shirt beneath it, pushing the hem into the loose fitting waistband.   
  
"I don't suppose there's a belt laying around somewhere."  
  
"Sorry. At least they're the right length," she offered, running her eyes over him. "How are the shoes?"  
  
"Victor's clothes aren't exactly a perfect fit, but they'll do until I can get my own," he said, rolling up the sleeves that were a little too short. Lowering himself to one knee, he double knotted the Nike's he'd been loaned and slowly stood. Reaching into the seat of the chair, Jarod lifted a small leather pouch and held it out to her. "This is not his shaving kit, though, is it?"  
  
"Is that a problem?"  
  
"Everything inside is mine. Where did you get it?"  
  
"Exactly where you left it," she answered, cocking her head to the side.  
  
He said nothing as she moved to the closet and opened the door. Though he thought he knew what she would reveal, his eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his small leather bag perched on top of the vinyl case that held his mother's belongings. He remembered the police returning both pieces to him, in the hospital, shortly before Parker arrived and told him about seeing his mother. He remembered the long conversation he had with his friend, and the plans they'd made to rescue his mother; but, when he woke up the next morning, Sweepers were standing guard at his door, Parker was no longer treating him like his friend and the bags were gone.   
  
"I don't understand," he admitted. "If you took these from my room, the sweepers would have reported it. Cox . . Alex . . they would have wanted to go through . ." he stopped short, staring at the smile that emerged on her face. "The sweepers didn't know?"  
  
"I put them in my car, before the sweepers arrived at the hospital and had Victor lug them up the stairs, when we got here. He thinks they're my bags," she told him, placing both pieces on the bench at the foot of the bed. His gaze slipped from her to the bags and then back again, shaking his head slightly in confusion.   
  
"I thought you might want them and figured they were safer with me," she shrugged, moving away as he approached, "I couldn't leave them in my car, because we won't be using it again."  
  
"I know the plan," he snapped, adding, "I just don't know why you're going out of your way to help me."  
  
"Does it really matter?"  
  
He frowned at her, then turned toward the items on the bench. Slowly unzipping the vinyl bag, Jarod pulled out the book he'd tried to dry over the hospital vents and absently flipped through the ink-smeared pages. Sliding his hand back into the bag, he recovered the birthstone ring and stared at the still mud-caked setting for a moment.   
  
"Don't get me wrong, Parker, I'm very grateful for everything you've done; but, if Cox and Alex even suspected you were keeping these things from them . . ." he let his voice fade, then faced her, "Does Sydney know the risks you're taking?"  
  
When she didn't reply, Jarod shook his head and, in a soft but reprimanding voice, said, "Parker, I won't let you . ."  
  
Moving in front of him, she angrily closed each of the bags and slid them in the closet. "You don't get a say in what I do or do not do, is that clear?"  
  
When she faced him again, Jarod's eyes were still trained on her, but they had taken on an edge they hadn't had before. The two stood in silence, his dark, brooding orbs holding her sharp, daring gaze until they were startled by a knock at the door. Simultaneously, Alex's voice boomed through the wood that it was time to go and, with an exasperated sigh, she stepped behind Jarod and gently guided him into the chair.  
  
"I will worry about Sydney, Cox and Alex. All you need to do, Jarod, is worry about yourself and your mother."  
  
"And who is going to worry about you?" he murmured when she moved in front of him to open the door.  
  
=======================================================================  
  
As the door swung inward, Alex stepped into the doorway with Victor standing close behind.   
  
"Get out of the way," Parker demanded.  
  
"Now, now," he grinned, circling the wheelchair, "what's your hurry? Jarod and I have a lot of catching up to do and, well, to be honest, his mother isn't going anywhere."  
  
"Where is she?" Jarod demanded.  
  
"She's safe."  
  
"I want to see her."  
  
"I know you do," he taunted, "In fact, you want your entire family together, don't you? The last time we met, I told you that the Centre would never allow that to happen, Jarod, and I meant it."  
  
Jarod's eyes widened and his hands gripped the arms of the wheelchair; but, before he could make a move, Miss Parker was standing between him and Alex. Positioned only inches in front of him, she crossed her arms and dared, "So help me, Alex, if you and Cox are welching on the agreement . ."  
  
"Relax," he grinned, pointing to a room two doors down, "she's in there."   
  
Taking a step back, when Jarod pushed his way forward, Alex let his eyes wander from the woman to Jarod and shook his head. "I just wouldn't want Jarod to come away from this one little visit with the wrong idea," he called after them in a dark voice, "When this is over, his world is going to revolve around the Centre and he will never see his mother again."  
  
=======================================================================  
  
He stopped just outside the door. The guard reached for the knob but Jarod put his hand on top of hers, stopping the motion.  
  
"Your mother is waiting," the woman said, not bothering to hide her confusion. "I thought you wanted to see her."  
  
"I do," he nodded. Pulling his hand back, Jarod reached down and set the brake on the wheel chair. "But not like this."  
  
"Jarod, I don't think this is such a good idea," Miss Parker protested.   
  
"I will not let her see me in this chair," he insisted, "I will not add to her worries."  
  
The guard glanced at her partner, then at Miss Parker for direction. With a scowl on her face, the brunette nodded. "Let him do what he wants."  
  
"Well, now, isn't that special?" Victor muttered, "If that's not proof that the inmates are running the asylum . ."  
  
"He can't go far on foot, so this arrangement should actually help keep an eye on him," Miss Parker said, ignoring Victor and directing her comments to the woman, "Besides, I've found that arguing with him does little good when he's got his mind made up."   
  
"It only took six years," Jarod muttered.  
  
Raising an eyebrow, she stared at him and continued in a firm tone, "If you want to walk in, under your own steam, that's fine with me, Jarod; but, the chair stays here, just outside the door. I don't want people running around, looking for one, when you fall flat on your face."  
  
"Your concern is overwhelming."  
  
"And, when the visit is over," she continued, talking over his interruption, "you sit your ass in this chair and keep it there until you're back in your room. Is that understood?"  
  
"As long as my mother doesn't see me using it, you've got a deal."  
  
"We've got a deal, as long as I say we have a deal," she retorted. Slipping her hands around his back and arm, she helped him rise. When he was standing, and using the wall for support, she patted his chest, the flat of her hand tapping him over the pocket of his shirt. In a low voice, she said, "As long as you hold up your end of it, we won't have any trouble."  
  
Before Jarod could respond, he was pushed forward, toward the opening door. Instinctively, he angrily pushed back at Victor, resisting the forced movement; but, as the interior of the room came into view, Jarod stopped fighting.  
  
Except for a large table in the center of the room, holding a dinner of soup, salad and bread, and surrounded by four wooden chairs, the chamber had no furnishings. The lights were brighter than the ones in the hall and, for a moment, Jarod shielded his eyes. When he lowered his hand, his eyes immediately found the woman standing at the far window. Framed by heavy, dull, yellowing curtains, the contrast of her red hair and the animated shadows that danced behind her gave a brief image of fire; and, somehow, a warmth he could not explain.  
  
With her arms wrapped around her waist, she turned as he entered and let her arms fall to her side. Less than a second later, Jarod found himself in his mother's embrace.  
  
=======================================================================  
  
"I'm a friend of Miss Parker's," he told her, "She said you might call."  
  
Emma shook her head and continued brushing the heavy snow from her car. Her shift had only been eight hours, but had seemed much longer. The hospital beds were filled with victims of the storm who had varying degrees of injuries, each demanding her attention and, thankfully, distracting her from the short conversation she'd had at the beginning of her shift.  
  
Though the man had seemed genuine, he had seemed nervous. When she told him that two policemen had tried to deliver a silver case they'd found at Jarod's accident sight, the man's anxiety seemed to rise. He asked for physical descriptions, mannerisms, whether or not they had produced badges and, despite the fact she remembered their names, he seemed disappointed that she had not written down their respective badge numbers.   
  
"You didn't tell them where Jarod went, did you?"  
  
"How could I? I haven't the faintest idea where he is. His file says he was transferred to a hospital in Delaware, but they've never heard of him."  
  
"Oh, yeah," he sighed, "Right."  
  
Just when she thought the conversation was over, he asked questions about the metal case. She corrected his assumption that the object was shaped like a suit case, explaining it was more like a strong box.  
  
"You know," she prompted, "the kind of thing someone uses to protect important papers from fire and such. It had an impressive looking lock on it, if that helps."  
  
Luckily, the car started immediately; but, as Emma sat and waited for the car to warm up, she wondered what she had gotten herself involved in and how she had managed to do it. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself that making the phone call to the nervous man was the last interaction she would have to Miss Parker, Jarod or their friends, she had a strong suspicion she would be seeing them again.  
  
TBC 


	10. part 10

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
Part 10/?  
  
by imagine  
  
Despite assurances from Parker and Sydney, there was a large part of Jarod that refused to believe he would ever see his mother again, let alone hold her. He closed his eyes and held her tighter, telling himself over and over that she was real and promising himself she would be safe. Things would not end the way they did when he was a boy at the Centre.   
  
However, in a matter of seconds, he relived the excitement associated with his parent's pending arrival and the devastating grief that overcame him moments later, when he was told their plane had crashed. His nightmares were riddled with variations of that day, some more macabre and violent than others; and, as he stood with his mother in his arms, Jarod fought to hide the scars of the childhood memory he had spent decades trying to erase.   
  
"Are you all right?" she asked.  
  
Opening his eyes slowly, Jarod kissed her on the cheek and pulled back so he could look at her. Nodding, he forced a smile for her, convincing himself that she would attribute his trembling to the relief of the moment and not question him further.   
  
"I am better than I have been in a long time," he said.  
  
Margaret returned the smile and brought one hand to the side of his face. His skin was smooth and damp from a fresh shave and her smile grew at the realization he had prepared for their visit. Obviously, someone was looking out for her son; someone was treating him with the respect he deserved and Margaret was not only relieved, she was grateful. Her thumb slid carefully over his cheek and under his eye, until the trace of moisture she felt began to melt the smile she held.   
  
"Jarod?"  
  
He had never had someone worry about him, never had someone look at him with the same kind of care as his mother and, under her scrutiny, Jarod shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Though he'd had no intention of revealing his fears, her soft touch and the gentle, questioning way she said his name brought the words to his lips. He closed his eyes as she swept the back of her forefinger under his lashes, then lowered his head so she could not see his face.  
  
"When I woke up in the hospital, and they told me you weren't brought in with me," he took a deep breath, glanced at her through his lashes and, finished in an unsure voice, "I thought I might never see you again."   
  
Though his tone was hoarse and hesitant, it carried no hint of accusation; but she heard the question he was trying not to ask.  
  
"Why did you leave me?"  
  
The sight of him laying helpless at the side of the river flashed in her mind and the knot in her stomach rose to her throat. Swallowing hard, she dropped her eyes, but the visions of him in the hospital, forced them back to his face. Her voice was gone, her breaths short and, as she stared at him, she felt the blood rush from her face.   
  
Jarod was standing in front of her and he deserved an explanation, she told herself. He deserved more than she could give him.  
  
Her hand slid to his shoulder and down his arm but, refusing to allow her to break the physical connection, Jarod gripped it tenderly when it fell into his. He watched his mother closely, his concern turning into alarm when her legs buckled beneath her. He grabbed her as she reached out for support, pulling her to his chest as he carried the woman to a wooden chair beside the table.   
  
Kneeling in front of her, Jarod slid his hand over his mother's forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat, while his left hand wrapped itself around her wrist, keeping a vague count of the rapid pulse. Panic rose inside him and, as he turned for help, Jarod found Jenna standing behind him holding out a bottle of water. With barely a nod of thanks, Jarod took the bottle and broke the seal on the cap.  
  
"Mom, drink this."  
  
Margaret did as she was told, but took only a few sips before handing the bottle back to her son.  
  
"Better?"  
  
She nodded, though she felt no less shaky than she had moments before. Her eyes followed him as he returned the bottle of water to the table. Security cameras were positioned in two corners and the sweepers were positioned on either side if the door, each silently reminding her to remain silent. Jenna was on the left, watching them with concern. Victor was on the right, watching them with disdain. Meanwhile, Jarod was kneeling in front of her, looking up with something she had not seen in years: love.  
  
"I'm okay," she promised.  
  
"Are you sure? I can have Sydney examine you and . ."  
  
"It was just a panic attack. All the stress and excitement, I suppose." She brushed her hand across his forehead, revealing a small purplish bruise at the hairline. Gently tracing it with her thumb, she looked into his dark eyes, took a deep breath and, before she could stop herself, whispered, "I'm so sorry, Baby. This all my fault. Everything that has happened in the past three days, everything you've been through, is because of me."  
  
"No," he insisted. Placing his hand over hers, he added pressure to stop her from confessing anything more. "None of this is your fault. The Centre did this to us."  
  
"I left you."  
  
"You called the ambulance."  
  
"What kind of mother leaves her child alone, when he's hurt?" she countered. Refusing to consider how he had determined she had made the call, Margaret continued in a voice that was thick with condemnation, "You could have died. What kind of mother . .?"  
  
"The kind of mother who believes she does not have any other choice," he said softly, "The kind of mother who believes that leaving will be less than damaging than staying."  
  
Stunned by the sincerity and forgiveness in Jarod's voice, Margaret glanced at the sweepers behind him and pulled her hand from his. Anxiously, she ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the band that held it a ponytail and shook her head.  
  
"You don't understand," she declared, weakly, "I knew they would come after us - come after me. I should have made you leave without me but I was being selfish and . ."  
  
"No. None of this is your fault," he repeated, desperation seeping into his tone as he reached for her, "I had no intention of leaving you at that cabin. If you hadn't come with me, I would have stayed. Please, Mom, don't blame yourself. Blame them. Get angry with them. The Centre is responsible. Alex and Cox are responsible."  
  
"I knew better," she murmured, continuing as if she had not heard his plea, "I knew they were afraid of the things I might show you, the things I might tell you. I knew that the longer we were together, the more danger I was putting you in; but I told myself I had more time before they found us. All I wanted was more time with you."  
  
Not knowing what else to do, Jarod slipped his arms around his mother. Bringing her to his chest as she continued berating herself for putting him at risk, he spoke over her murmurs. Repeating that she was not at fault, he rocked her tenderly from side to side, holding her even after Margaret quieted and returned the embrace.  
  
-----------  
  
"Well, as entertaining as voyeurism may be, I have had enough," Miss Parker snapped. "This is getting us nowhere."   
  
Pushing the chair back as she stood, she paced the length of the dining room, purposely blocking the view of the video monitor. Seeing Jarod trying to console his mother, trying to convince her that her guilt was misplaced, and struggling with the fear that he would fail was almost as taxing as knowing there was nothing she could do to make things better for him. At the moment, like most of his life, Jarod was on his own.  
  
"Miss Parker, please sit down. Dinner will be served in a few minutes," Cox replied.  
  
"Forget about dinner," she spat. "I want answers."  
  
"Answers?" he repeated, not bothering to hide his amusement, "What are the questions?"  
  
"Well, to begin with," she demanded, glancing menacingly at Alex, "What is he doing here?"  
  
"He's working with me on a special project."  
  
"Does the Centre know about this project?"  
  
"More or less."  
  
"More or less," she repeated. Her eyes narrowing, they slid from Cox to Alex, "And, do they know that he's alive and helping in this project?"  
  
"Would it matter, one way or the other?"  
  
She sighed and looked at Sydney who shook his head. Standing the psychiatrist moved to her side, keeping his back to the monitor and Jarod's emotional reunion with his mother.  
  
"So, tell me about this project," she dared, folding her arms across her chest, "What, exactly, does Jarod's mother have to do with it?"  
  
"Jarod's mother is the project," Alex answered.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"I am sure you are aware that other teams were put in place, years ago, to locate Jarod's family," Cox sighed.  
  
"Yes," she agreed, "but I was not aware that you were leading one of them, or that you had located Margaret."  
  
"We have been tracking her movements for some time," he admitted, "in the hopes she would lead us to what we were looking for."  
  
"Jarod?"  
  
He shook his head. "Something much more important, at this stage of the game, my dear Miss Parker. A few days ago, when Jarod located his mother, we decided to bring Margaret here, to ... interview her."  
  
"You ran them off the road," Sydney accused, his face reddening, "Have you any idea the damage you could have done? If Jarod had been seriously injured . ."  
  
"Relax," Alex hissed, pointing at the monitor, "Jarod is fine, isn't he? The man has more lives than I do."  
  
"So, let me understand this," Miss Parker said, bringing the attention back to her with an increasingly hardening tone, "you brought Jarod's mother here and left Jarod on the outside?"  
  
"Currently, our project revolves around Margaret only," Cox answered, "Besides, Jarod was in need of medical attention we were unable to provide, at the time."  
  
"You had plenty of time before the storm hit," she pointed out, "You could have taken them both back to the Centre, where the facilities are much more ... conducive ... to interviews. You would have been heroes; bringing back Jarod and turning in his mother at the same time. Instead, you brought her here? You brought her to a safe house in the middle of nowhere. Why?"  
  
"We have everything we need here."  
  
She stared at them a moment, the wheels of her mind connecting his comments with what she'd discovered earlier, during her unofficial tour of the house. Alex stood and began restlessly pacing the back of the room, while Cox sipped at his drink, calmly looking beyond her at the monitor. In their own ways, each was waiting for her to continue the discussion.   
  
"The three locked rooms," she breathed. Cox smiled as he sipped his drink, and nodded slightly. "Let me see them. Now."  
  
Glancing at his watch, the man took a deep breath and, rising from his chair, motioned toward the door.  
  
"It seems that, though Jarod and his mother are preparing for their meal, we still have some time before our dinner is served," he complained, "So, if you will follow me, Miss Parker, Alex and I will show you and Sydney the rooms in question."  
  
As they filed into the hall, Miss Parker glanced at the monitor and asked, "How long have you been tracking Margaret's movements?"  
  
"Long enough to know she holds the key to Jarod's future," Alex smiled. Holding the door, he waited for her to pass through, adding cryptically, "And yours."  
  
-----------  
  
"Mom, everything is going to be all right," he promised softly. Unbuttoning the flap over his shirt pocket, he reached in and retrieved a rolled up tissue. Dropping his eyes, he watched his fingers separate the top layer of the wad. Pushing the still crumpled section into his pants pocket, he dabbed her eyes with the fresh piece then handed it to her. "We're going to get out of here. Together."  
  
"You have no idea what you're saying, Jarod."  
  
"Yes, I do," he told her firmly, "I want our family to be together and I am willing to fight for it."  
  
Turning away, Margaret looked at the guards, at the frozen window and at her own hands without a comment.  
  
Slipping his hand under her chin, Jarod brought his mother's eyes back on him. "I am willing to fight for our family," he repeated, "Aren't you?"  
  
"I'm tired," she answered wearily, "I'm just tired, Jarod."  
  
"Then I'll fight for both of us. I won't . ."  
  
"All right," Victor boomed, "that's enough talk. Dinner is getting cold."  
  
Letting his hand fall to his lap, Jarod faced the Sweeper who was standing over the table of food. "Not now."  
  
"Suit yourself," the Sweeper shrugged, "but it's not going to be here forever, you know."  
  
"Jarod, he's right," Margaret said, patting her son's arm, "You're still recovering from the accident. You need to eat something. Besides," she smiled, when he looked at her, "I'm a little hungry, myself and that salad looks good."  
  
Reluctantly, Jarod helped his mother move closer to the table. On her direction, he bypassed the soup and filled one of the four dinner plates with salad and bread, then placed the meal in front of her. He waited until she indicated the serving was sufficient, then moved to his seat, across from her. Waiting for him was a filled bowl of soup.  
  
"What's this?"  
  
"Hot water with vegetables and noodles. It's called soup," Victor answered sarcastically. "Don't say I never did anything for you."  
  
Slipping his hands into his pockets, Jarod watched quietly as Victor served Jenna with the silver handled ladle; but, when the man picked up the remaining bowl, Jarod reached across the table and grabbed his wrist. Startled by the movement, the Sweeper stared at Jarod, but did nothing to counter the movement.   
  
"Take this one."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I said, take this one," Jarod repeated, in a low voice. With his free hand, he lifted the bowl and held it out to the other man. "I'll get my own."  
  
"Jarod, this is not necessary," Margaret whispered. "Please."  
  
"Here, give it to me," Jenna interrupted, holding out her bowl to Jarod. "I'll take yours, and you take mine. You saw him pour it, mine is safe."  
  
Shaking his head, Jarod leaned against the table and pushed the bowl closer to Victor. "I want him to take it," he growled, "I want to watch him eat the soup and whatever else he dished out for me."  
  
"You think I put something in your soup?" Victor laughed "Look at you, you can barely stand, why the hell would I need to drug you any more than you already are?"  
  
"I don't know," Jarod shot back, "Why did you force sedatives on me earlier?"  
  
"You didn't," Jenna muttered in disbelief, "Tell me you didn't do what he's saying."  
  
"I was told to keep him quiet and under control. The sedatives were authorized by Mr. Cox."  
  
"Quiet and under control, huh?" she repeated. Raising one eyebrow she tipped her head toward the Pretender. "You did a great job."  
  
Victor faced Jarod, openly sizing up the man. "She has a point. You are a little too coherent for someone who downed three sedatives."  
  
"What can I say?" he smirked, "My body works through these things quickly."  
  
"You son of a ..."  
  
"Jarod, please, sit down," Margaret pleaded, moving between him and the Sweeper. His face was darker and his eyes harder than they had been and it frightened her. In an effort to calm him, she began stroking her son's arm, coaxing him to place the bowl back on the table. "Baby, this is all unnecessary. Please, sit down."  
  
"Now look at what you've done. You've upset Mommy, Jarod."  
  
"Stop being an ass and take the damn soup, Victor," Jenna demanded. "We're being watched, remember? How do you think all of this looks to Mr. Cox?"  
  
"I don't give a damn .."  
  
"If you ever want to get that transfer, you do," she spat, moving closer so her words would not be picked up by the surveillance equipment, "Right now, they're watching this and they're thinking that - maybe - you did exactly what Jarod is accusing you of. Maybe you slipped something unauthorized into his soup. Add that to the fact you gagged him in the ambulance and who knows what else, there's no telling how they will react. Miss Parker is the Chairman's daughter and you've already gotten yourself in hot water with her, do you really want to screw up again?"  
  
"But I didn't put anything in his bowl," the man protested.   
  
"Then you don't have anything to worry about, do you?"  
  
His eyes darted from her to the camera to Jarod, who raised one eyebrow and lifted the bowl of soup a little higher.  
  
"Fine," he breathed. Taking the bowl, he sat down. With a quick look around the table, he began spooning the soup into his mouth and, by the time Jarod filled his own bowl, Victor was waiting for seconds.   
  
"Satisfied?"   
  
"For now," Jarod answered, placing the ladle back in the pot.  
  
"Jarod, I really wish you would stop this," Margaret scolded. Her voice was hoarse and, as she spoke, her eyes flicked anxiously between Victor and Jenna. "You're antagonizing people who could make life worse for you, for no reason. Now, sit down."   
  
Without warning, she grabbed her son's arm and pushed him into the chair. Startled by his mother's actions, as well as her words, Jarod dropped the bowl and instinctively moved back as it shattered on the hard wood floor. Almost simultaneously, Victor let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.  
  
Ignoring the Sweeper, Jarod looked at his mother in confusion but the woman refused to acknowledge him. Instead, she shook her head and tossed a handful of napkins on the puddle of soup. Crouching beside his mother, Jarod placed his hand over hers as she began picking up the shards of glass that peppered the floor.   
  
"I'm sorry, Jarod," she whispered, pulling from his touch. "I just want you to be safe."   
  
Without looking at him, she stood and walked away, carrying the soup-heavy napkins and glass shards to the far side of the room.  
  
"Awww, what a shame. Mommy is mad at you and I took the last of the soup so you're going to go to bed hungry. This just isn't your day, is it?"  
  
"Victor, shut up," Jenna snapped. "You're not helping."  
  
"I'm not trying to."  
  
"Jarod can use the extra dinner plate and make himself a salad," Margaret said, over her shoulder. After tossing her load into a small aluminum trash can in the corner of the room, she faced them and smiled, "It's better for him, anyway."  
  
------------  
  
The first room, across from the dining area, was small, no more than 11 X 7. Wooden shelves, filled with books of assorted types and sizes, lined all four walls and, at the far end of the room was a wooden desk holding two stacks of newspapers. Beneath the table was a small, vinyl padded stool.  
  
Miss Parker approached the desk slowly. When she was standing in front of it, she glanced over her shoulder at the three men. Alex and Cox were watching her closely from the door while Sydney conducted his own inspection of the room by looking through the books that adorned the East wall.  
  
"What have you got, Syd?"  
  
He shook his head, and shot a curious look at Alex and Cox. "I'm not sure. So far, everything I've pulled from the shelves, is a transcript of one of Jarod's sims, including its ultimate use."  
  
Turning toward the desk when Sydney headed for the North wall, Miss Parker fingered the newspapers in the first stack slowly, paying special attention to the dates printed on the banners.   
  
"Alaska - September, 1996; Oregon - February, 1997; Arizona - May, 1998; North Carolina - May, 1999," Miss Parker read aloud. Then, dropping the rest of the papers, she faced the men and demanded, "What the hell is this?"  
  
"Reference materials," Cox answered, spreading his arms looking around the room, "This room contains everything we used to locate Margaret and, at the same time, Jarod."  
  
"Miss Parker, these shelves are filled with data concerning Kyle," he told her.  
  
"And the West wall contains the information we've compiled about Major Charles and Emily," Alex added, "Jobs, acquaintances, aliases, you know the drill. We couldn't very well understand Jarod's mother if we didn't understand how her family operated."  
  
Swinging back to the table, she lifted two of the publications from the first stack and sifted through them. In no time, she found articles reporting the outcome of one of Jarod's pretends. Taking two newspapers from the second stack, she repeated the process; only to find the same results.  
  
"All these articles are at the Centre, in the red notebooks Jarod left behind. They've been analyzed hundreds of thousands of times," she said, facing them. "They told us close to nothing."  
  
Alex shook his head, "Actually, Miss Parker, until now, they were never analyzed by me."  
  
--------------  
  
Moving to where Jenna was slumped in her chair, Jarod saw his mother glancing worriedly at the cameras. "It's all right, Mom. We have some time."   
  
"What? How could you possibly know that?"  
  
With a shrug, he lifted Jenna from her chair and shrugged. "I just do. Trust me."  
  
Though she tried to push him away, her attempts were weak and Jarod carefully laid the woman on the floor at the far side of the room. Almost immediately, the her eyes fluttered and, after murmuring something about being sorry, the Sweeper fell silent.  
  
Once she was quiet, Jarod relieved her of the gun holstered at her side then moved to where Victor was laid out. Unlike Jenna, the man made no attempt to fight back even after Jarod dragged him under the table and handcuffed each arm to a different table leg.  
  
"I don't understand," Jarod admitted, "I only slipped him two pills. Considering his body weight, they should not have put him into such a deep sleep."  
  
"Jarod, now is not the time," Margaret called impatiently, from the door.   
  
"And she shouldn't be out at all," he continued, slipping handcuff keys into his pocket, "I didn't give her anything."  
  
"Jarod, we can talk about this later. Please, we have to get out of here before .."  
  
"I know," he smiled, moving toward his mother, "We can go now; it's just that I don't like not knowing why something didn't work out the way I planned."  
  
Rubbing her forehead, she sighed when he stopped beside her. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"  
  
He stared at her, his expression blank as she reached into her sweater pocket. When she produced a small pill, and held it out to him, his eyes widened in understanding and locked onto hers.  
  
"I only have the two of them left," she said, "they got caught in the stitching of the pocket and . ."  
  
"You did this?" he asked, amazed. "This is what you meant when you said what I was doing was unnecessary?"  
  
"I saw you palm the pills and drop them into the bowl of soup before you started the argument with Victor," she nodded, looking at the downed man for a moment before facing Jarod. "I had already spiked the pot so, essentially, you were giving him a double dose and I didn't want you to get hurt making the attempt."  
  
----------------  
  
"Now, can we retire to the dining room and . ."  
  
"Not on your life, Cox," she interrupted sharply, "There are three locked rooms on this level and I want to see all of them."  
  
"After dinner."  
  
"Now."  
  
"Miss Parker, the purpose of the dinner tonight was so that we could observe Jarod's interaction with his mother."  
  
"I'm sure you're taping it," she replied, "You can watch it later."  
  
The scowl on his face was more than enough evidence that Miss Parker was trying his patience, a fact the brunette took pride in. When the man started back to the dining room, she grabbed his arm and pointed toward the end of the hall.  
  
"The second room is next to the library, I believe."  
  
"We may as well do as she asked," Alex grinned, "All you're doing by arguing with her is delaying the inevitable." Leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his chest, he did not bother to hide the fact that he was enjoying watching Cox and Parker fight for control of the situation.   
  
"All right," the man conceded, turning his hard glare on Miss Parker, "I will show you the second room now; but the third will wait until after we've put Jarod and his mother back in their separate rooms."  
  
She glanced at Sydney who looked at his watch and nodded. "I think that's a reasonable suggestion, Parker."  
  
Releasing a heavy sigh, she nodded in agreement. "Then, let's get this show on the road."  
  
Like the first, the second room had no windows; however it was a bit larger. The lights were fluorescent and a ceiling fan made slow revolutions above them. In the corner was a high table with an attached magnifying glass. Beneath the table was a stack of books. When Miss Parker and Sydney scanned the titles, they looked back at Alex and Cox with confusion.  
  
"All of these books pertain to ancient documents," Sydney stated. Lifting one, he said, "This one is about the types of ink and paper used; while this one," he lifted a second book, "is about the types of seals used by various abbeys between the 12th and 17th centuries."  
  
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were planning on authenticating the scrolls," Miss Parker said, her eyes narrowing as she watched both men, "But we all know that's never going to happen."  
  
"And why is that?" Alex asked.  
  
"Because my father jumped out of a plane with them," she snapped. Then, crossing the room in two strides, she stopped just inches from him and growled, "Or, are you trying to tell me my father is alive and hiding somewhere with the scrolls?"  
  
He shook his head and stepped back as he answered, "We're not the least bit interested in your father or what he had with him when he took his swan dive. We're interested in finding the real thing."  
  
---------------  
  
"How many of these did you use?"  
  
She shrugged. "Seven, but they were a combination of things; I don't know exactly what they are because no one ever told me. I used the medication they've been trying to force on me for two days."  
  
"Well, they seem to have done the job," Jarod grinned, looking back at Victor.  
  
"Now, can we go?" she asked, swinging the door open.  
  
"Of course."  
  
Taking his mother's hand, Jarod stepped in front of her and, after checking both ends of the hall, turned away from the stairs. At once, Margaret pulled back, bringing him to a stop.  
  
"Jarod, what are you doing?" she demanded, "The exit is this way."  
  
"The stairs are in view of the dining room. If we go that way, we'll have Alex and Cox all over us in seconds," he told her, as he pulled her toward Miss Parker's room, "We'll be safer going this way; besides, there's something we need to get in here."  
  
Peering anxiously over his shoulder while he worked the lock on the door, Margaret whispered, "Jarod, if we stay in this house, they'll find us."  
  
"Not right away," he said, ushering her inside and closing the door. "This room does not have any surveillance equipment."  
  
"Now, how in the world would you know that?"  
  
"Miss Parker swept the room, earlier," he answered, opening the closet door, "She didn't find any."  
  
"And you trust her to tell you the truth?"  
  
Hunched over the bags, with his hands firmly wrapped around their straps, Jarod swung them over his shoulder and faced his mother.   
  
"Yes," he said, flatly, "With my life."  
  
--------------  
  
TBC  
  
Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-) 


	11. Part 11

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Note: This chapter is quite a bit shorter than I intended; but, real life is kind of interfering at the moment (in a good way g). I promise, the next part will be longer. Also - a big thank you to everyone who has posted a review. You have no idea how great it is to know that people are actually still reading this story!   
  
Guilty  
  
by imagine  
  
Part 11/?  
  
"You trust her with your life."   
  
Jarod frowned. He was not naive enough to believe his mother would instantly approve of the bond he shared with Parker, but the bitterness in her tone was more than he was expecting.   
  
Letting the bags slip from his shoulders to the floor behind the door, he moved to where his mother stood only to have her step away and turn her back on him. More than anything, he wanted to find reassurance in her eyes and an expression softer than her actions; but he couldn't find the courage to make her face him. Glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, Jarod pushed his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and searched for the words to make his mother understand.   
  
"Yes," was all he managed.  
  
She was silent for a moment, staring at the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "And, because you trust her, we're waiting for her, aren't we? That's why you brought me to this room, instead of escaping when we had the chance."  
  
"Going out the front door was not an option."  
  
"But trusting that woman is?"  
  
"She's on our side," he promised. When his mother raised her head and looked at him in the reflection of the window, he added, "Parker and I have worked out a plan to get us all out of here."  
  
"She brought you here as her prisoner, intending it to be a stop off on your way back to the Centre, yet you're worried about her getting out safely."  
  
There was no question, just a simple statement of fact. But, despite the harsh edge to her voice, he heard her confusion. Jarod sighed and rubbed the back of his neck when his mother shook her head and averted her eyes. He imagined that she was deciding he'd been brainwashed, or that he was a casualty of the Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe she was right. Maybe she was wrong. He could honestly make a case for both points of view, but he had no idea what difference it would make. He had memories that supported his feelings and, though he knew they were not normal, nor the kind his mother had hoped for him, but Jarod refused to dismiss their importance.  
  
"Miss Parker and Sydney have been a part of my life for almost forty years, Mom," he said, finally, "Without them, I don't know that I would have survived."  
  
"They took you from me."  
  
"No." Tenderly slipping his hands to her shoulders, Jarod leaned closer to his mother. "They took care of me. Sydney was my teacher, my protector. Miss Parker was my friend."  
  
"Your friend?" she dared. Abruptly spinning around, she startled Jarod and grabbed his wrist as he took a step back. "Explain to me how you could possibly consider that woman your friend."  
  
The thought that he had to explain, and defend, his relationship with Miss Parker - or anyone else - was incomprehensible to him. He admitted it was illogical, but there was a part of him that always believed keeping his mother in his thoughts was the same as sharing them with her. As confused as he was about the depth of his feelings for Miss Parker, he was confident that she was someone he could trust. Therefore, his mother should know to trust her, too.  
  
His face darkened, his jaw tightening and his eyes narrowing at the tone behind her words. Easily pulling from his mother's touch, he growled, "If it weren't for Miss Parker, you and I would not be standing here. She took a big risk when she decided to help us; a risk that could get her killed. We owe her. I owe her."  
  
Margaret's eyes widened and her lips parted, as if she were about to speak, but no words were uttered and, after a moment, Jarod felt his body relax. Taking a deep breath, he slid on to the bed and lowered his eyes. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined his mother could annoy and frustrate him so much. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined anyone could make him feel so defensive and unsure.   
  
"You do not owe her anything," she spat. "You do not owe any of them anything. They kept you away from me, they chased you, shot at you, and Lord knows what else. Don't you see, you're better off - safer - without her."  
  
"I will not leave without her. I will not leave her to face the Centre alone, when all she was doing was trying to help us."  
  
"It's not your job to protect her. Besides, she isn't alone, she has Sydney."  
  
"I won't leave without them."  
  
As far back as he could remember, Miss Parker and Sydney were the only people in his life who seemed to understand his fears, and not try to use them against him. They were the best part of his childhood and he refused to let his mother, or anyone else, take that away from him.  
  
At an age when he should have been pretending to be a sports hero and memorizing the statistics of his favorite teams, he was pretending to be an assassin and hypothesizing the motives for the murder of a movie legend. Instead of running for class President, he exposed political conspiracies. And, while children his age were developing social skills, Jarod was becoming addicted to an experimental drug the Centre believed could increase his mental prowess.   
  
The experiments were taxing and, more times than not, the simulations were extremely frightening but, Sydney never allowed him to become overwhelmed. Unlike the other Centre doctors, who periodically took their turn exploiting his mind, early on, Sydney gave Jarod a safe word. Regardless of what the simulation was, or how important the experiment, Sydney would bring it to a halt as soon as the word was uttered. In return, Jarod only asked for refuge when it was absolutely necessary.  
  
When Sydney was there, Jarod felt safe.   
  
"Please, Mom, let's not do this now," he murmured, "We don't have time for me to tell you everything that's happened in the past three decades."  
  
"I don't expect you to," she replied, her voice softening, "Not now."   
  
Moving beside him on the bed, she slipped her hand in his and squeezed it tightly. She forced a smile, but let it fade when Jarod did not return the gesture. "I want to know everything, Baby, but right now all I'm concerned with is getting you somewhere safe before they find us."  
  
For a brief moment, Jarod's thoughts drifted back to when he was a child. With his head on his pillow, he always ended the day by softly telling his parents that he loved them and that he was looking forward to the day they would come to take him home.   
  
That day never came. If it had, he mused, none of this would be happening right now.  
  
"We'll be leaving soon," he promised, "All of us."  
  
Margaret expelled a frustrated breath and looked around the room. In her profile, he saw a woman who was tired and anxious, a woman who was desperate to have things her way and he felt his chest constrict. He wanted to do what she wanted, he wanted to please his mother; but, he could not abandon Parker and Sydney and he wished she would understand.  
  
When her eyes came back to her son, Margaret brought her free hand to his face and caressed his cheek. Instinctively, Jarod leaned into the touch and, though he didn't raise his eyes to hers, she smiled.   
  
"Catherine told me you and her daughter were close," she said, softly drawing her hand away from his face and laying it on top of the hand she held, "and, as difficult as it may be for you to believe, I am glad you had a friend, someone your own age to help you while you were in that place."   
  
He was silent, wary of whatever tactic his mother was about to use to make him do as she wished, while reminding himself that his mother was doing what she thought was best. He decided she did not deserve another outburst of frustration and, in order to keep himself quiet, concentrated on the warmth of her hand and the friendship he was defending.  
  
"I am sure Miss Parker played a large role in your life. In fact, I will go so far as to say that your friendship with her probably helped mold you into the man you are today."  
  
On days Sydney ended their session early, Miss Parker and Angelo would turn up and steal him away for a few hours of childish distraction. When they weren't sitting in a quiet corner, sharing thoughts and secrets, they were scurrying through air vents and shadowed hallways, listening to things they should never have heard. Though they normally escaped being found in places they did not belong, there were times they were caught and punished. Even then, when he was isolated from his mentor and turned over Mr. Raines to perform experiments he knew Sydney would never approve of, Jarod always looked forward to his next visit with Miss Parker and Angelo.   
  
With his eyes, he carefully traced the fingers that melted around his, paying special attention to the tan line that marked the place her birthstone ring belonged. Without looking up, he shot a quick glance at the bags he'd left behind the door.  
  
"But, Miss Parker is not the same little girl you befriended as a child, Baby. She grew up and her priorities changed. She's done terrible things in her life."  
  
Slowly, Jarod brought his attention back on his mother. Shaking his head slightly, he met her gaze and, in a soft voice, countered, "I am not the same little boy who was taken from you forty years ago, either. I grew up. I've done things neither you or Dad would have approved of, but it doesn't change the fact that I love you or that you love me."  
  
The moment his words were spoken, her eyes hardened and Jarod tensed.  
  
"Does it?"  
  
"It's not the same thing. You are my son," she told him, "Since the day you were taken, not a day has gone by where I haven't fantasized about finding you and bringing you home. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you or worrying about you, Jarod."  
  
"Miss Parker and Sydney have been in my life for as long as I can remember; they have done more for me than you will ever know," he told her, "Since my escape, I've helped total strangers, defended them when they couldn't help themselves, because it was the right thing to do. I cannot turn my back on people I care about, Mom, because I cannot leave here without them."  
  
"Even if it means giving up your freedom?"  
  
"It would never come to that."  
  
"How can you be so sure?"  
  
"I just am." Pulling his hand from hers, he shook his head sadly. "I suppose, if you've decided not to trust them, I can't force you; but, please, Mom, trust me when I tell you they are on our side."  
  
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Margaret moved from the bed to the window. Aware that his eyes were upon her, she kept her back to him and stared at the icicles that hung from the eaves. "I'm trying. I promise you, Jarod, for your sake, I want to believe Miss Parker is the woman her mother was sure she would become."  
  
"What's stopping you?"  
  
"Her history, her actions," she shrugged, "Everything."  
  
She heard the soft squeak of the bed as he rose and watched his movements in the reflection of the window. The distortion of his face, in the pane, when he looked at her, confirmed what she already knew. He was disappointed in her response. He was disappointed in her.   
  
He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair before heading toward the bags, at the edge of the room. His movements were slow and, she thought, a bit unsure. Turning, she watched him press the flat of his hand against the wall for support and then lean against it with his shoulder.   
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
He nodded. Using the wall, Jarod slowly lowered himself to one knee. and hunched over the two bags he had dropped earlier. With one hand, he pulled the vinyl bag toward him.  
  
"I have something for you."  
  
For the first time, Margaret looked at the pieces of luggage. As recognition dawned, she moved closer to her son.  
  
"That's my bag. Where did you get it?"  
  
"The police brought it to me, at the hospital, after they pulled it from the river," he explained. Keeping his back to her, he unzipped the side compartment. "I . ."  
  
"What else did they recover?" she asked.  
  
Hearing the anxiousness in her voice, Jarod pivoted slightly, so he could look at her. She saw his confusion, but Margaret offered no explanation for her tone. Instead, she just waited for his response.   
  
Splitting his gaze between her and the bags, Jarod finally answered, "These two bags, mine and yours, were all they brought me."  
  
"Nothing else?"  
  
He shook his head.  
  
"And Miss Parker brought them here?"  
  
He nodded, unsure of the direction of the conversation, but unwilling to voice his questions. Though her tone had lost its urgency and she had stopped herself from pacing after only a few steps in each direction, her hands were curled into fists that clenched when she spoke. Exhaling softly, Jarod told himself that whatever secrets his mother was keeping would have to wait until they were safe.  
  
"If anyone knew she had them, they would have been confiscated and she would have a lot of explaining to do."  
  
Margaret knew that what he was saying was true, but could not seem to make the knot in her chest relax. She was relieved that he didn't seem to know about the strong box; but was not convinced that Miss Parker might not have it in her possession and the idea that the brunette might have already shared the box with Cox and Alex terrified her. There was no telling how long it would take them to break the lock, how long it would take them to realize what they had, or how long it would take before her promise to Catherine Parker was broken.  
  
"Just like they would have confiscated this, if they knew she'd found it," he added.   
  
Turning on his knee, Jarod opened his hand and held it out to his mother. He smiled crookedly when her eyes darted between the ring she claimed to have worn every day for decades, and his face. "She cleaned it for you, too."  
  
Without a word, Margaret knelt beside her son and gingerly took the gold band from his hand. She felt her eyes fill and his arm slipping around her shoulders, but the focus of her attention was on the three stones that sparkled up at her from the gold setting. Topaz, Ruby, Garnet.  
  
Leaning into her, Jarod pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed his mother softly on the cheek.   
  
"Parker is not a Saint," he whispered as he pulled back, "but she's not evil incarnate. I promise, it's all right to trust her. At the very least, give her the benefit of the doubt."  
  
Leaving her on the floor, Jarod pulled himself to his feet. After only a few steps, though, the Pretender faltered. His knees buckled and, though he reached out for something to use for balance, all he managed to do was brush his fingers along the edge of the bed post. He heard his mother cry out and, an instant after his body hit the ground, he felt her arms around him.  
  
"Jarod. Jarod, what's wrong?"  
  
"I'm okay," he whispered. Wrapping his arm around his mother's shoulder, he allowed her to help him to his feet.  
  
"Like hell you are," she spat. "If you were okay, you wouldn't have lost your balance."  
  
Though he tried to pull from her hold, Margaret kept a secure grip on her son, led him to the Queen sized bed and ordered him to sit. Jarod did not argue. Suddenly, his legs felt like rubber and his heartbeat was as rapid as if he had just run a marathon. With his arm looped around the bed post, Jarod lowered his head and took deep breaths, releasing them as slowly as possible in hopes of regulating his heartbeat. When he finally sat up, he found his mother sitting beside him with a glass of water.  
  
"I'm all right," he repeated, taking a sip of the drink, "I guess I just over did it a little."  
  
She ran her hand across his brow and frowned. "You don't feel like you're running a fever, but I should have realized you needed to rest. Instead of arguing with you, I should have insisted you lay down or ..."  
  
"Mom," he patted her hand to silence her and smiled, "I promise, there is no way you were going to get me to lay down. I promise, I will rest as soon as we're out of here."  
  
"And, exactly, when will that be?" she asked, watching him place the still half filled glass on the night table.   
  
"Soon."  
  
Annoyed by his vagueness, she was about to demand a real answer, when her attention was drawn to a sound behind her. The floorboards on the other side of the door creaked in protest to additional weight and Margaret's eyes automatically dropped to the doorknob as it began to twist. Less than a second later, Jarod was on his feet and pulling her across the room. Quickly placing a finger against his lips, he silently pushed her toward the wall that the door would open against and stepped back.  
  
With her hand across her mouth, she watched anxiously as her son retrieved a gun from the waistband at the small of his back. It seemed as if his entire body tensed in a split second. His shoulders were no longer slumped forward, the muscles in his jaw were tight and his breaths were shallow and quick. Positioning himself on the opposite side of the door, he pointed the automatic toward the ceiling with the one hand while the other told her to stay where she was.  
  
"Please, be careful," she whispered.  
  
TBC  
  
Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-) 


	12. Part 12

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
by imagine  
  
Part 12/?  
  
Keeping his back against the wall, Jarod retreated a few steps, stopping when his foot hit the large maple bookshelf. Taking a deep breath, he let his eyes dart quickly around the room, assuring himself that the window on the opposite wall did not reflect his image to those in the hall. The door to the closet was still open and the bags it once hid were now stacked unevenly against the wall. He glanced at the entrance to the room, then back at the closet, unable to decide if it was visible from the hall. If things went wrong, he did not want the bags to be questioned, he did not want Parker's good deed to be punished.  
  
Sighing, he decided there was nothing he could do about the bags and let his eyes travel to the four poster bed that sat directly across from him. He attributed the thick, dark wood frame and ornate carvings to the fact that the bed seemed larger, more regal than a Queen sized bed. The comforter was deep red, trimmed in satin with delicate floral stitching along the edges and in the center, and the over stuffed pillows were covered with matching shams. He could see the indentation he'd made, when he and his mother sat at the edge of the bed. The glass of water she'd brought him was still on the night table, and, for a moment, her concerned gaze flashed before his eyes. It was a look he'd imagined seeing, thousands of times, as a child; now that it was real, he was willing to do anything not to see it again. He did not want her worrying about him.   
  
Shaking his head, he refused to acknowledge that the gun he clutched felt heavier than it should, or that his heart was still racing and dropped his eyes to the slowly opening door. He calculated the percentages of which of the Centre operatives would be the first to enter while motioning for his mother to move further away from the door. There was definite fear and hesitancy in her eyes, but she did as he wanted and moved into the hall that led to the bathroom.  
  
Suddenly, the door swung open, slamming against its hinges and swinging back only a few centimeters before coming to a stop. Though the action had meant to startle, it had not been unexpected. Jarod saw his mother take a step toward the swaying door, felt his hand tighten around the butt of the automatic and, in the same split second, lunged forward. Grabbing the newcomer by the collar, he pulled him inside and held him against the wall.  
  
"Hello, Alex," he growled. Using his body to hold the man in place, he pounded Alex's gun wielding hand against the frame of a Monet print while pushing the muzzle of his own gun against the man's throat.  
  
Alex responded with a slow, sinister grin that was barely complete before he plunged a fist into Jarod's side. Unprepared for the blow, the Pretender grunted and his stance shifted just enough to let the gun slip from its mark. His opponent took full advantage. With a wide sweep of his hand, Alex struck Jarod in the mouth, forcing the man back just far enough to enable him to slide away from the wall.  
  
"You should have taken Mommy and left, when you had the chance."  
  
"That's not something you need to worry about," Jarod replied, wiping his lip with the back of his hand, "We will be leaving very soon."  
  
"She's not worth it, you know," he taunted, taking a few steps to his right.   
  
Jarod's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.  
  
"She's not worth the risk you're taking, the risk you're making your mother take. After all this time, you've defied the Centre and managed to find your mother. Is doing what you're doing really worth losing her again?" As he continued, Alex's voice became more threatening, "You can either have the world that includes your mother, or the one that includes Miss Parker. If you try to combine them, both will collapse and I will see to it that it happens in the most painful way possible."  
  
With his shoulders low and every muscle in his back and arms tight, Jarod bulldozed into Alex and easily brought the man to the floor. His attack was so quick, so fueled by adrenaline, that neither realized what was happening until the Pretender's fist made contact with the other man's jaw. When Alex regained his senses, after the second blow, he rolled to the side, knocking his attacker off balance and kicking him just below the ribs. The pretender let out a small, guttural sound but refused to stay down.   
  
Once on their feet, the men breathlessly continued the battle, each refusing to allow the other to recover either of the guns that had spun across the floor. Their groans and gasps punctuated the sound of their bodies being slammed against walls and furniture with unnatural force. Paintings that decorated the wall became weapons, floor lamps became missiles and drapery accents became tools of strangulation. When they stumbled into the bookshelf, Alex felt it rock on its base. Dodging Jarod's fist, he grabbed the nearest posts of the wooden structure and, using its instability to his advantage, tipped the shelves forward, toward the Pretender.   
  
Heavy granite and iron bookends slid from the shelves, followed by dozens of thick hard covered volumes and a pair of crystal vases. Mercifully, only a few of the items glanced off Jarod's shoulder and back on their way to the floor; but when the heavy unit finally came away from the wall, his mother screamed.  
  
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Pushing her way past Alex, she rushed to where Jarod was lying, dazed and moaning softly, under the shelving unit. Tipped forward, the rack angled from the wall to the four poster bed and the items it once held were scattered and splintered across the floor. Had the bed been a few inches in either direction, Jarod would have been crushed by the weight of the frame; instead, it laid around him, caging him like an animal, between the wall and the bed.   
  
Alex ignored her and moved to the corner and retrieved one of the guns lost during the battle. Slipping it into the waistband of his pants, unearthed the second firearm from beside the closet door. After a quick glance toward where Jarod and his mother were huddled together, he turned and disappeared into the bathroom. When he emerged a few minutes later, strips of a towel were acting as a bandage around his left hand. The blood that had been trickling from his forehead, into his eyes, was gone and his face was damp.   
  
Crossing the room, he let his right arm hang at his side, but tightened his grip on the gun he held. Wiping his eyes with the toweled hand, he looked down at Margaret and waved the gun at her.  
  
"Get up," he demanded.  
  
Reluctantly, the woman did as she was ordered, leaving her semi-conscious son on the floor.  
  
Wrapping his bandaged hand around her arm, he dragged the woman back a few steps, forcing her to view Jarod's injuries from a distance. Blood dripped down the side of his face, his lip was swollen and, bruises had already started to form around his neck.   
  
"Look at what you did," he hissed, "Look at what you did to your son."  
  
Her eyes still trained on Jarod, she shook her head. "No. I . ."  
  
"I told you I would kill him in front of you, if I had to; but you didn't believe me," he spat. Tightening his grip on her arm, he raised the gun and added, "You are responsible, Margaret. All you had to do was tell us what we wanted to know. All you had to do was tell us where the scrolls were."  
  
"No. I don't .."  
  
"Let her go."  
  
Alex stiffened at the voice, then slowly looked over his shoulder at the brunette standing behind him. With her gun drawn and pointed directly at his head, she looked determined, angry and as dangerous as he knew she could be.   
  
"I don't like repeating myself, Alex," she warned, "Now, let her go."  
  
Letting his hand slide from the older woman's arm, he released Margaret. Peripherally, he saw her scurry back to Jarod, but kept his attention on the other woman, fascinated by the flame he saw in her eyes and the fire sizzling just beneath the surface.   
  
"Now drop the gun."  
  
He looked at the automatic in his hand and then looked back at the woman. "And if I don't?"  
  
She responded by removing the safety on her gun. "Don't delude yourself into thinking I won't pull the trigger, Alex. You've given me more than enough reason."  
  
After glancing over his shoulder at Margaret, as she moved the floor lamp that blocked her son's path from beneath the shelving unit, Alex turned back with a look of mock confusion. "So, are you referring to what I did to Jarod, here, or to what I told you about your father? Which one is reason enough to pull that trigger, Miss Parker?"  
  
--------------------  
  
Wiping his face with her hand, Margaret leaned down and kissed Jarod on the forehead when his eyes fluttered open. He forced a smile she knew was meant to reassure her, then winced in pain when he tried to move.   
  
"I'm all right," he whispered, squeezing her hand.  
  
Shaking her head, she wiped the tears from her face and argued, "No, you're not; and the next time you say that to me, you had better not be exaggerating. I'm your mother, Jarod, I'm not stupid."  
  
He dropped his eyes, accepting the chastising without comment. "I don't want you to protect me from the truth," she sighed, adding softly, "It's my job to protect you."  
  
His eyes came back to hers, but Margaret pretended not to notice the question they held. Instead, she turned away and began sliding away the debris that trapped him beneath the shelving unit. "Now, let's get you out of there."  
  
Though her attention was centered on Jarod, as he carefully pulled himself to freedom, Margaret listened to the exchange between Miss Parker and Alex. The few words that were spoken were angry, taut and, threatening; but, if Miss Parker and Alex were both operatives of the Centre, they were both working toward the same goal - Jarod and the scrolls. They were on the same team, so to speak, yet, there was something between them that suggested otherwise.   
  
Helping Jarod into a sitting position against the wall, she continued to listen to them. She wondered about their history, about Alex's comments regarding the younger woman's father and, most of all, she wondered what role her son had in all of it.   
  
"At the very least, give her the benefit of the doubt."  
  
His voice was barely a whisper, but it brought Margaret back to reality. Looking at her son, she saw a myriad of things in his face: fatigue, pain, expectation and only a trace of fear. After everything he'd been through, he had either managed to minimize his fear or hide it, she couldn't decide which. She could only imagine how badly he was hurt, now that Alex had inflicted new injuries on top of the ones received because of the accident, and she did not like what came to her mind.   
  
When his eyes darted over her shoulder, at the standoff between Miss Parker and Alex, she saw him reach for the floor lamp that had been discarded a few feet away.  
  
"Trust me," he said.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Margaret nodded and laid her hand over her son's.  
  
--------------------  
  
"Drop the gun, Alex. I'm not going to warn you again."  
  
Backing away, Alex leaned against the bed post and looked at the gun in his hand, turning over thoughtfully. "You and I both know you won't shoot, don't we, Miss Parker?"  
  
Her hand tightened around the gun.  
  
"If you shoot me, there will be a T-board hearing," he warned lightly, "and I know how much you hate those. You'll have to explain yourself, explain why you thought I was a threat and, now that Daddy isn't there to protect you . ."  
  
"I can take care of myself," she snapped. "Shooting you would not be the worse thing to happen in my life."  
  
"Maybe not; but, if you miss .."   
  
"I won't."  
  
"If you miss," he repeated more forcefully, "or don't kill me with the first shot, I will return fire."  
  
"Not a problem."  
  
"Isn't it? Even if it isn't in your direction?"  
  
In a heartbeat, his eyes hardened and, though they were still trained on her, his arm sprung up at his side. His gun was pointed directly at Jarod.   
  
"Shooting him is not a smart career move, Alex. The Centre wants him back."  
  
"The powers that be will get over it, after all, they still have me," he shrugged. "I'm more interested in you and why you're suddenly so concerned about him. You have been chasing him, just so you could bring him back to the Centre, haven't you?"  
  
"I not only chased him, I caught him, you moron. And, I did not do it so you could use him for target practice."  
  
"What if I promise just to graze him?"  
  
"You take one shot, in his direction," she warned, "and it will be your last."  
  
"Really? Well, then, I'll make it easy for you. You have until the count of three to stop me before Mr. Wonderful gets a hole to match the one I gave him three years ago."  
  
Margaret used the lamp to help her stand and moved obstinately in front of the gun. She felt Jarod's hand brush against the back of her sweater as she rose, trying to keep her down, but Margaret kept her eyes focused on the man with the gun.   
  
"I won't let you do it," she told him.  
  
Alex grinned and peered around Margaret, shaking his head as he made eye contact with Jarod. "Amazing. You have women all over just dying to protect you, don't you?"  
  
"Leave her alone, Alex," he warned.  
  
"Now why would I do that? I've already told you, the Centre never wanted the two of you to find each other. If I shoot her, you lose."  
  
"If you shoot her, I'll kill you."  
  
"Tough talk from a man who can barely stand," he laughed. Then, taking on a more menacing tone, he directed his comments to Margaret, "You can stop this, you know. All you have to do is tell me where . ."  
  
"You are not in any position to negotiate. Drop the gun, Alex," Miss Parker demanded. "Now."  
  
"I'm getting bored with this," he sighed, removing the safety from his gun. "I think it's time to find out who is willing to do what. One."   
  
"Damn it, Alex . ."  
  
"Two."  
  
"Don't make me shoot you."  
  
"Mom, no . ."  
  
"Three!"  
  
"No!"  
  
She heard her son yell, as two gunshots rang out but Margaret was preoccupied in the vibration that ran from the base of the lamp, into her arms as Alex fell to the ground. She stared at the spot where the lamp had connected with the back of his head then backed away. Breathing heavily, she let the light fixture drop and faced Jarod's startled expression. She saw the bullethole just inches to the right of him and, suddenly, her legs buckled, bringing her to her knees at his side.   
  
Wrapping Jarod in her arms, she looked back as Miss Parker holstered her gun and knelt at Alex's side. The man was unconscious and, though there was no open head injury, the bullet in his shoulder caused blood to spread over his shirt and down his arm; but, the woman did not seem to notice, or care. Pulling the man into a sitting position, she relieved him of both guns, a knife and a set of handcuffs, then roughly brought his arms over his head and chained them around the bed post.  
  
-------------------  
  
Standing, she stole a quick glance in Jarod's direction then crossed to the window. When she turned back, the Pretender was pushing himself to his feet, using his mother as a crutch. For the first time, Miss Parker saw the extent of Jarod's injuries.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
He nodded and took a few steps, trying desperately not to put all his weight on his mother's shoulders. "I will be."  
  
"So, when I told you to take it easy, did you really think I meant to engage in hand to hand combat with Alex?"   
  
He shot her an annoyed look then, allowing her to move under his free arm, stated, "He started it."  
  
"What are you, twelve? You knew the plan. Couldn't you have controlled yourself for fifteen more minutes?"  
  
"No."  
  
"You weren't there," Margaret interjected, glaring at the brunette. "Jarod was just defending himself."  
  
"I'm sure he was," Miss Parker replied, lowering Jarod to the bed. Then, facing the older woman, asked, "But, tell me, who threw the first punch?"  
  
When there was no response, Miss Parker nodded and turned away. "I thought so."  
  
Jarod waited until his mother went into the bathroom in search of medical supplies, before he shifted on the bed and faced Parker. Standing at the window, she was staring intently into the yard and, yet, he felt her eyes on him.  
  
"We don't have much time," she said, "As soon as Cox realized you were missing, he called for backup. Sweepers should be arriving in the next hour or so to help in the search."  
  
"What happened to Cox?" he asked, glancing at the door. "And, where's Sydney?"  
  
"Cox is in the next room. When I left, Syd was handcuffing him to Victor," she answered, letting the curtain drop into place. "It seems Freud has a pretty good left hook. You would have been proud."  
  
"So, he's all right?"  
  
"He's fine. He's getting the car," she answered, facing him as Margaret reappeared with a towel, a box of bandages and a small bowl of water. She watched the woman dab at the cut on her son's forehead then headed for the door. "We don't have time for that, right now. I'm going to get the wheelchair; when I get back, we have to leave."  
  
"Wheelchair?" Margaret repeated. Looking from the woman to her son, she asked, "What wheelchair?"  
  
"It's all right, Mom," he said, "Parker is just being overcautious. I can . ."  
  
"Like hell I am," she spat, from the doorway, "Your mother and I will help you down the stairs; but, from here to there, you're riding. When we get to the bottom, you're going to sit your ass on the sofa and wait for me to bring the wheelchair down. Is that understood?"  
  
"I am perfectly capable of making it on my own two feet."  
  
"Right," she sighed, disappearing into the hall, "you keep telling yourself that; because I'm not buying it."  
  
"I mean it, Parker, I can do this without you," he called. Then, looking at the grin that had emerged on his mother's face, he repeated, "I can."  
  
--------------------  
  
Despite his intitial protests, Jarod allowed his mother and Parker to help him down the stairs and out of the house. Though he refused to admit it, he was exhausted and in pain. When he slid into the seat of the SUV, he saw the concern on his mentor's face but turned away.   
  
Under the pretense of fastening his seat belt, he lowered his gaze and then, leaning back in the chair, kept his eyes closed until he felt his mother's hand slip in his. He rocked his head to the side, and forced a weak smile when he looked at her. Though she didn't say a word, he knew what she was thinking and that she was worried about where they were headed.   
  
"It's going to be all right," he promised. "Trust them."  
  
TBC 


	13. Part 13

Disclaimer in part 1  
  
Guilty  
  
by imagine  
  
Part 13/?  
  
Jarod had no idea how long he'd been asleep; but, when he opened his eyes he found himself in a room lit only by a fireplace and tucked into an almost too-soft bed. Turning on to his back, he sunk deeper into the mattress and stared at the slow revolutions of the ceiling fan. Despite the fact he could not remember where he was, or how he had gotten there, the Pretender released a soft, contented sigh. He was warm, relaxed and, except for a few dubious thoughts he was trying to ignore, he was at peace.   
  
Something told him not to question it.   
  
Pushing at the mound of blankets that covered him, Jarod sat up and, after allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light, surveyed his surroundings. In addition to the sleigh bed he occupied, the room was furnished with a padded rocking chair, a dark cherry wood nightstand and a matching armoire. The walls were painted a soft, warm coral and the floor was wooden, covered with one large braided rug that disappeared under the bed. With the exception of the fireplace that jutted out from the far wall, the room seemed to be void of any light fixtures, however there were two large windows to his left that were covered tightly with long rose colored drapes.   
  
To his right, on the same wall that the bed curled against, was a door he assumed led to the rest of the house. Slipping his legs over the side of the mattress, he felt a cold draft and immediately brought both feet back under the blankets. He curled his toes against the wooden frame and stared at the gap between the door and the floor, listening to the soft, murmured voices that seeped in from the other side. After almost a full minute, he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and slowly moved from the bed.   
  
The door opened quietly, leading him into a hall that ran the width of the bedroom, no more than fifteen feet. Directly in front of him was another door that, though it was closed, he decided led to a second bedroom. At the end of the corridor, to his right, was the bathroom. Jarod could see a black and gray tiled floor, the corner of a black marble sink and the edge of a beveled mirror.   
  
"I don't have time . ."  
  
"Then, I suggest you make the time. We're not going anywhere until you tell me what I want to know."  
  
Pressing one hand against the wall, for support, Jarod moved cautiously to his left, toward the sounds of other people. The voices were familiar and were not loud, by any definition, but the room that harbored them was large. The ceiling was two stories high and the acoustics would have been a musicians dream.  
  
"Then make yourself useful," the older woman replied, retrieving a pot from one of the lower cabinets, "Fill that with water and put it on the stove to boil. When it does . ."  
  
The instructions were interrupted by the clanging of the pot as the brunette threw it back in the cabinet. "I am not here for a cooking lesson. Answer my question."  
  
Though Jarod considered interrupting their disagreement and acting as referee, he decided whatever was happening between them should be left for them to settle. At least for the moment, he was better off opting to continue his silent tour of the house.   
  
The dining area consisted of a table, six chairs and a sideboard made of oak. Each was highly polished and, except for the lace runner and a small vase of plastic daffodils at the center of the table, they were unadorned.  
  
An open staircase divided the house, lengthwise, into two sections and a balcony ran around the second floor. A large Belgian world atlas tapestry, made from gold, black and burgundy threads, hung from the edge of the railing, effectively blocking his view of the upper level, so Jarod turned his attention back to the first floor.  
  
Beyond the stairs was the kitchen and, to its right, the living room. Thick burgundy drapes hung open on the side wall, revealing windows that not only filled both rooms with light, but offered a view of the snow covered road and the ridge beyond it.   
  
Two deep cushioned chairs, upholstered in a floral pattern, a hunter green sofa and matching loveseat, and a thick, oak coffee decorated the main part of the room, each of them pointing toward a cold stone fireplace. In the corner, a floor lamp a potted palm and roll top desk completed the living room.  
  
"What did Cox and Alex want from you?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"Like hell you don't."  
  
Decorated with European style cabinets, a butcher block island and dark appliances, the kitchen was smaller than it appeared. The window above the sink was shaded with plain, yellow curtains and, above the stove, a clock in the shape of a cat ticked off the seconds with its tail.   
  
With their backs to him, neither woman was aware of his presence. Whatever his mother was slicing at the counter, was being cut with quick, abrupt motions that told him she was annoyed with the conversation. Meanwhile, Parker was standing only inches from his mother, purposely invading her personal space. It was a tactic she had used on him hundreds of times, when they were children, in order to get her way.   
  
"Fine. They wanted to know why I was on Carthis," she sighed, glaring at the younger woman for the first time.   
  
"What did you tell them?"  
  
"Nothing."   
  
"Why were you there?"  
  
She stiffened for a second, then glared at the other woman. "If I didn't answer their questions, what makes you think I'll answer yours? The last time I checked, you were employed by the Centre. You're one of them."  
  
"Then you had better look again, lady. After what happened last night, Syd and I are not exactly marked for employees of the month."  
  
Judging by the cat on the wall, the silence carried on for more than a full minute before Miss Parker crossed her arms and took a step back. With her head tilted to the side, she stared at his mother, waiting impatiently for her to continue. Finally, the brunette slapped her hand over the other woman's wrist and effectively halted the vegetable chopping.  
  
"I know you were searching for the scrolls."  
  
"You know nothing of the sort," she insisted, pulling free, "and I'm getting bored with this fishing expedition, Miss Parker. I have things to do, so if . ."  
  
"Jarod and I spoke with Ocee. She told us you had been to her shop."  
  
At the mention of the shopkeeper's name, Margaret hesitated, then retrieved the pot from the cabinet. "I wandered in and she made me some tea. There is nothing more to tell."  
  
"She's dead, you know. Someone shot her."  
  
Moving to the sink, she slid the pot beneath the faucet and nodded. "I know. She was a nice woman, she didn't deserve to die the way she did."  
  
"What did she mean, when she told Jarod you were searching for truth about who he really was?"  
  
Margaret was silent.  
  
"You were looking for the scrolls, weren't you?" she asked softly.  
  
"That's a big jump, Miss Parker."  
  
"But it's the truth. You had the doll."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"Angel's doll, the one with a clue to where the scrolls were hidden. The doll that her father, my grandfather, brought to America. The doll you left in the confessional at the chapel," she finished. "Remember, I saw you, Margaret. Why did you leave it behind?"  
  
"I'd been shot." Placing the pot on the stove, she ignited the burner beneath it. "I thought it might distract my pursuers long enough for me to escape."  
  
"Do you know who shot you?"  
  
"No," she admitted, adding snidely, "I assumed it was someone working for the Centre."  
  
"So, you knew there were Centre operatives on Carthis."  
  
"I saw the helicopter land. I had my suspicions," she sighed.  
  
"Did you know Jarod was on the island, too?"  
  
As if she'd just been slapped, Margaret turned on Miss Parker with a face that was red with emotion. Her hands were trembling and her breaths were suddenly shallow, but she locked on to the brunette's icy gaze and met it with one of her own.   
  
"Who the hell do you think you are?" she demanded, her voice low and threatening. "Jarod is my son. I gave him life. When he was taken, it almost destroyed me."   
  
Letting the blanket around his shoulders slip slightly, Jarod moved to the foot of the stairs. Suddenly, it seemed important to intervene; but, before he had the chance, his mother broke the brief silence.   
  
"Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, I lived with the agony of not knowing where my child was or what was happening to him. I was filled with so many nightmares, so many memories and regrets that, after awhile, I could not tell them apart. I lived with gruesome mental images that my own mind created and, to this day, refuses to purge. I was terrified, Miss Parker, terrified that Jarod was paying the price for a mistake I made."  
  
Seemingly oblivious to her tears, she dipped her hands from her sides, into her pockets and then clasped them in front of her before slipping them back into the sweater. He felt the urge to move to her side, to comfort her and protect her from the memories she was reliving; but, Jarod could not find his legs.  
  
"Then, one day, I realized Kyle was missing his brother as much as I was and began concentrating on him. He saved my life," she said, a bit too calmly. "The nightmares didn't stop but, every time he smiled, or cried, or begged to be held, I felt a little better. I told myself that Kyle needed me now and that Jarod would need me when he came home. I had to be strong for them. I had to survive."  
  
He dropped his eyes as she spoke, remembering his brother. He remembered his anger, his determination and, most of all, his plea that his parents never find out about the things Raines made him do. As his mother continued, Jarod wondered if, somehow, his brother knew the amount of comfort he had given their mother, as a toddler. He hoped he did.  
  
"The day they took Kyle, the day they had both my sons, my heart shattered and, it was more painful than I thought possible. As much as I wanted to, though, I didn't die. Charles and I searched for our boys and I did everything I was supposed to do - I cried, I wrung my hands, I obsessed, I even laughed, when it was appropriate. To the outside world, I appeared to be a woman struggling with the loss of her sons.  
  
Jarod's eyes flicked to Miss Parker. Though she wore the mask of the Ice Queen, he saw her uneasiness. Whatever response she had been looking for, when she asked her question, this was not it.  
  
"But, Charles isn't a stupid man. He knew I had changed and did his best to keep me sane by giving me control. He taught me how to use a gun, how to fight, how to know when I was being followed and how to follow someone without being seen. My husband understood that the only emotions I felt anymore were terror for my children, hatred toward those who took them and guilt for allowing it to happen. He told me, time and again, that he felt the same way and, though I never doubted him, I wondered if he really understood how much I had changed. When I found out I was pregnant with Emily, I almost . . I considered . ."  
  
Shaking her head, Margaret turned away and saw Jarod, for the first time. Standing no more than ten feet away, tears glistened in his eyes. While he stood there, dressed only in a T-shirt and pair of sweat pants, barefoot and wrapped in a thick white quilt, he looked younger than his forty-four years. In his eyes, she saw her little boy and Margaret found it difficult to find her voice.   
  
"To answer your question, Miss Parker, no, I did not know Jarod was on Carthis," she finally said, never taking her eyes off her son, "If I had, I would never have left him."  
  
"And, yet, after the accident, you left him on the river bank, unconscious and . . ."  
  
"Parker, that's enough!"   
  
----------------------------- 


	14. Part 14

Disclaimers in part 1

Guilty

by imagine

Part 14/?

She stared at him, then dropped her eyes to his mother. Huddled in Jarod's arms, Margaret was readily accepting the protection her son offered and, unable to stomach the scene, Miss Parker spun on her heel. The Pretender called after her in a deep, irritated voice, as she grabbed the bright yellow jacket from the hook by the door, but she refused to acknowledge him. When he yelled her name a second time, she swung the door open, stepped through it, then slammed it so hard the inlaid glass shook.

Damn him.

She took the porch steps in rapid succession and headed down the freshly shoveled path. Forcing her arms into the jacket as she moved, she let the garment hang open and buried her hands in the pockets. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Broots and Debbie emerge from the rented SUV. They waved but she was still too angry with Jarod to respond. With only a glance in their direction, she moved away from the confused tech and his daughter and cut across the property with long, purposeful strides.

Preoccupied with the words she and Jarod had exchanged inside the house, she barely noticed the snow was almost knee-high in places or that the cold wind was causing her eyes to tear. Instead, she saw the tension in his face and the protective way he his arms draped across his mother's shoulders.

_"No, I did not know Jarod was on Carthis. If I had, I would never have left him."_

_"And, yet, after the accident, you left him on the river bank, unconscious and . . ."_

_"Parker, that's enough!"_

_It wasn't nearly enough and she'd told him so. His mother had information about the scrolls, information Cox and Alex wanted very badly. If they had any chance of protecting themselves, they needed to know what she knew._

_He told her she was pushing too hard, warned her to back off, and then tightened his hold on his mother._

_"She's my mother, Parker."_

_"For the last seven years, you have been searching for the truth about your past - about my past. You know she has the answers. Why won't you ask them? Why won't you let me ask them? She left you, Jarod. You don't owe her anything. She owes you."_

_She saw Margaret shift in Jarod's arms but, still, the woman said nothing in her defense._

_"My mother left me because she had to, not because she wanted to," he growled, "If it hadn't been for her, I would be in the Renewal Wing right now."_

_The words propelled her back a few steps and caused her to inhale sharply, but Miss Parker's voice was suddenly calm, "Do you really believe that?"_

_The Pretender flinched and dropped his eyes. In a voice so soft, she barely heard him, Jarod replied, "She's my mother." _

After almost ten minutes, her pace slowed and, angrily tugging on the zipper, she finally closed the jacket. Leaning against a large rock, she folded her arms across her chest and dropped her mouth below the collar of the jacket, warming each breath before it entered her lungs.

She understood that Jarod did not trust her unconditionally and the fact did not bother her; after all, it was mutual. Their past was littered with so many acts of sympathy, cruelty and, worse, indifference, that the probability of either of them ever feeling secure in their relationship - or any other - was slim. It was the fact that he put his faith in a woman he barely knew, so easily, that bothered Miss Parker.

As she stared through the trees at the bluffs in the distance, Miss Parker took deep, cleansing breaths. Suddenly, her mind flashed the image of his body, still sheathed in a thin hospital blanket, racked with terror. She shuddered at the memory, hugging herself when she recalled how he'd felt in her arms, semiconscious and trembling uncontrollably. After suffering at the hands of demons only he could identify, Jarod had accepted the comfort she offered without question. Minutes later, he was sleeping peacefully.

"You're good for him."

Emma's voice came back to her and Miss Parker shook her head. The nurse had no way of knowing the history she and Jarod shared, no way of knowing how quickly their relationship could change from allies, to adversaries. All Emma saw was a moment in their lives, a rare moment where both their defenses were down. What Emma witnessed had meant nothing.

Raising her face to the wind, Miss Parker sucked in a deep, icy breath, and closed her eyes. She remembered the heat emanating from his body when he leaned forward to kiss her on Carthis. Opening her eyes, she brought her thoughts to the present and dismissed the memory. She told herself there had been no heat; it had been the fire in the hearth behind them that had made the room feel warm. Almost immediately, she recalled the sensation of his heartbeat beneath her fingers and the sound of his breaths mingling with the spray of the shower. She felt the warmth of his body against hers as he leaned into her touch . . .

Damn him to hell.

* * *

He dropped the blanket that hung around his shoulders and moved toward the door before the inlaid glass stopped vibrating. Though he was still angry at her for her treatment of his mother, Miss Parker's abrupt departure sparked something else. Suddenly, the thought she might not return invaded his mind and Jarod felt an overwhelming desire to prevent that scenario from happening.

His mother's hand on his arm stopped Jarod only a few steps from the door. Quietly, she moved between him and the exit, blocking his path. He opened his mouth to speak but, when the woman shook her head, Jarod fell silent.

"Jarod, please, don't go after her. You have to stay here."

"I have to talk to her," he said, his eyes darting between his mother and the window that showed him the retreating image of Miss Parker, "I have to explain."

"She'll be back. You can talk to her then," Margaret replied, "Right now, you need to sit and relax."

"But . . . "

"Jarod, it's cold outside and your body has already been through a lot, in a very short time. Look at you, you're shivering. You probably have a fever."

Picking up the discarded blanket as they passed it, she slowly herded her son to the kitchen and motioned toward an available chair. Obediently, Jarod followed her direction, and lowered himself into the seat but, when she made an attempt to check his temperature, Jarod gently pushed away her hand.

"I'm fine."

She scowled at him and crossed her arms.

"You are not fine and should be in bed. I will not allow you to jeopardize your health, because of that woman."

"Mom, _that woman _has done nothing but help us," he hissed. Brushing away the blanket as she slid it over his lap, he continued, "She has made herself an enemy of the Centre, a place her family built, because she helped me and because she saved your life. _That woman_ deserves much better than the way we - than I - have treated her."

"You can talk to her later, when she returns."

"We will both talk to her," he corrected, using a firm tone. "She deserves answers, Mom; so do I."

When Margaret stiffened and turned toward the stove, Jarod sighed dejectedly. He called out for her to come sit with him, but Margaret did not respond. Instead of calling out a second time, Jarod rose from the chair, intent on following his mother and forcing a conversation he told himself was overdue.

When the door suddenly swung open and a cold breeze washed over him, however, Jarod forgot about his mother. Expectantly, he turned, with the brunette's name on his lips, only to see the young girl step over the threshold.

Debbie looked at him, quietly taking in the defeated way he sat back down before carefully closing the door. "Is something wrong?"

Shaking his head, he forced a smile. "No. Everything is fine."

When she glanced behind him, Jarod followed her gaze. Finding that his mother had returned to chopping vegetables and had her back to them, he sighed and looked back at the girl. She gave him a small, shy smile, shrugged and then turned to hang up her coat.

"We saw Miss Parker outside," the girl said. "She seemed to be in a hurry but Dad said there was something he needed to talk to Miss Parker about."

Jarod frowned. "Did your father say what he needed to discuss with Miss Parker?"

The girl shook her head. "No, but he said he would be back in a few minutes."

"I am sure that Broots, or Miss Parker, will share their conversation with us, if they feel the need."

Shifting in his chair, Jarod turned toward the voice and nodded at his mentor as the man descended the staircase. He appeared tired, Jarod thought, then quickly dismissed the urge to ask about the man's health. He knew Sydney well enough to know that he would attribute his slow movements to age. So, for now, Jarod decided to accept the explanation, even though it had actually never been spoken.

"Good morning, Sydney," he said. Then, with a smile, he added, "Or, is it 'Slugger' now? I heard you brought Cox down with one punch last night. I'm sorry I missed it."

"I'm not," the older man replied with a scowl, "You would have managed to get yourself into even more trouble."

"Probably. But, admit it, bringing Cox down was a good feeling, wasn't it?" the Pretender coaxed.

"As a matter of fact, it hurt," the man replied sternly, "My hand will probably never be the same."

Jarod stared at the man, his eyes twinkling with amusement as his mentor crossed to the table. He let the silence hang between them and playfully refused to avert his stare. Sydney met his gaze and released an exasperated sigh when Jarod raised an eyebrow and tilted his head to the right.

Quickly returning the younger man's grin, the psychiatrist finally answered, "All right, yes, it felt wonderful."

* * *

Before putting her plan to transfer Jarod from the hospital to the Centre safe house into motion, Miss Parker had given Broots two assignments. The first was to find them a place to hide when it was over, and the second was to make himself available in case Emma called to report anyone looking for Jarod. Regardless of the fact that it had been less than eighteen hours since Miss Parker, Jarod, Margaret and Sydney had escaped the Centre safe house or that his boss seemed preoccupied, Broots felt it was he gave his report.

When he was about thirty yards behind her, Miss Parker pushed back the hood of her jacket and turned toward him. When their eyes met, he came to a standstill, allowing her to close the distance between them. She moved quickly and, though the hood was again blocking her peripheral vision, he knew she was aware of where he was standing.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I thought we should talk," he answered, falling into step beside her.

Taking a deep breath, Miss Parker nodded and kept moving toward the house. She did not ask what he wanted to discuss nor did she tell him to get on with it. In fact, her lack of response made Broots wonder what she was thinking about. Suddenly, he realized that she was no longer walking at the energetic and determined clip that was her norm.

"Is now a good time?"

"It's as good of a time as any."

Frowning, the tech reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cellular phone. He held it out to her as they walked but Miss Parker came to a complete stop before she took it from him.

"Did she call?"

"Yes."

"How long ago?"

"Early yesterday."

Sliding the phone into her pocket, Miss Parker brought her hand to her eyes and released a heavy sigh that he would have sworn masked an obscenity. When her lungs were empty, she inhaled deeply and simultaneously ran her fingers through her hair.

"We need to move," she said, starting toward the house. "I was hoping we would have more time but, if the Centre sent reinforcements already . . ."

"It wasn't the Centre."

"What?"

"The police came to the hospital, not the Centre."

Miss Parker stopped suddenly, staring after the man until he, too, came to a halt.

"They recovered more items from the river and wanted to return them to Jarod," he continued, answering the unasked question.

"They found the DSA case?"

He shook his head. "Judging by Emma's description, I don't think so. She said it looked like your run of the mill strong box. You know, the kind most people keep insurance papers and mortgage documents in."

"Somehow I wouldn't categorize Margaret as 'most people'. Did they tell her what was inside the box?"

He shook his head. "They don't know. The officers told Emma that, unlike the car and other items they found at the scene, the box and its lock were in tact."

* * *

After almost thirty minutes of arguing, Jarod finally allowed his mentor to examine his injuries. For a while, he sat in the chair by the fireplace, barking out instructions to his mother and Debbie as they built a fire. When his mother finally turned and told him they could manage without his help, Sydney suggested they move into his bedroom. Margaret seconded the suggestion.

"Are you and Jarod angry at each other?"

Startled by the question, Margaret looked at the girl. Pushing the hair away from her face, she furrowed her brows and asked, "Angry? Why would you think we were angry?"

Debbie shrugged and twisted so she could see the door to Jarod's room, then looked up at the woman.

"You haven't said much to each other and, well . . ." she shot another glance at the closed door and finished, ". . . you both look sad."

"Do we?"

"A little," Debbie answered. She hesitated, watching the woman as she stared at her son's room, then asked, "My Dad told me you and Jarod haven't seen each other since Jarod was four."

Releasing a shuddered breath, Margaret nodded and knelt beside the girl. "That's right. What else did your father tell you?"

"Not much."

"Did he tell you how Jarod and I were separated?"

"He said Jarod was stolen and that he found you last week."

Suddenly self-conscious, the girl nodded and turned her attention back on the fireplace. She stretched inside and rearranged the logs to the specifications Jarod had given them, then sat back on her knees. "Do you think it will work now?"

"I think so," she said, shooting a quick glance at the girl's work. "Did your father tell you who took Jarod away from me?"

"I didn't ask."

"Why not?"

Confidently meeting the woman's gaze, Debbie replied, "My father thinks it isn't safe for me to know things about his work, so I don't put him that position."

"So, is it that you don't know, or that you pretend it doesn't matter?"

Debbie stood and pulled the box of fireplace matches from the mantle and handed them to the woman. "Do you want to do the honors, or should I?"

Margaret smiled slightly and took the matches. "You're a smart girl."

"I don't know about that," she admitted, watching the woman light the fire, "but I do know that if I didn't see my mother for most of my life, I would want to know why."

"Jarod knows why."

"Did you tell him?"

Startled, Margaret looked from the small flame. "Well, no but . . . "

"Then how does he know?"

* * *

By the time Miss Parker and Broots returned to the house, Sydney and Debbie were sitting in the kitchen, each with a cup of hot tea in their hands. Between them, on the table, was a small pile of playing cards laying face up.

"I win, again," Debbie announced. "That's two out of three, Sydney. Do you want to go for the best out of five?"

"Maybe later," he told the girl, shooting a worried glance at Miss Parker.

With her jacket still on, the woman did a quick superficial search of the rooms she passed through. When she got to the bedrooms, she faced Sydney and pointed to the closed doors. "Are they in there?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"Good."

"Miss Parker, wait," Sydney called. Rising from the chair, he moved to where she stood and laid his hand over hers as it reached for the doorknob. "Now is not a good time. Jarod is in there with his mother."

"Even better."

"Miss Parker, please. They've only been in there a few minutes. Give them some time."

"Time? Sydney, we don't have time. By now, Alex and Cox have contacted the Centre and told them what happened last night. Do you have any idea what that means?"

"Yes. Of course I do," he replied tersely.

"It means that you and I and Broots are on the Most Wanted list," she snapped. As soon as the words were spoken, though, Miss Parker winced. Her eyes fell on Debbie, then traveled to Broots as the man released a solemn sigh.

"It's all right, Miss Parker," Debbie said, breaking the silence. Facing her father, she continued softly, "I know what's happening. I've known, for a long time."

"How?" Broots asked. "How could you possibly have known?"

"You're a great Dad but a horrible liar." When he blushed, Debbie gave her father a quick peck on the cheek and smiled. "Do you remember that day Miss Parker picked me up from school? She said you were working late and brought me to her house. Sam stayed with me until you got home."

When Debbie saw her father trade an uneasy look with Miss Parker, she took his hand. "It was about a week before my birthday."

"I remember."

"Well, at the time, I took everything at face value. I accepted the stories you all told me, without question," she said. "It wasn't until after we got back from our trip to Paris that I started to wonder about things. For instance, why did Miss Parker pick me up instead of my God mother? Why didn't you call? You always call when you work late, just to make sure I got home safe. What caused the nightmares you had?"

"You never asked me any of those questions. I didn't even know you knew about the nightmares."

"I thought about it, but I was afraid you might tell me I was imagining things or send me to live with my Godmother," she admitted. Then, before her father could protest, Debbie continued, "Besides, the more I thought, the more I started to question things. Like all the times I asked you about your job."

"I never lied to you about my job."

"Whenever I asked you what you did at the Centre, you told me your job was boring and would quickly change the subject. If I pushed the issue, you told me you did research and collected data for Miss Parker."

"Well, I do."

She let out a small laugh and shook her head. "You do much more than that, Dad. You're a Senior Systems Technician at the Centre and, since 1996, you and Sydney have been assigned to the Pretender Project, reporting directly to Miss Parker. Your responsibilities vary but, for the most part you are responsible for keeping the Centre mainframe secure and for collecting information about Jarod."

"Debbie, what do you know about the Pretender Project?" Miss Parker asked, moving toward the girl. "What do you know about Jarod?"

"More than I want to," she answered sadly.

"And, exactly how did you find all this out?" Broots asked, purposely preventing Miss Parker from asking another question.

She shrugged and looked at her father with wide, innocent eyes. "My lap top."

"What? That's impossible."

"It was hart but, not impossible. It took me a little more than two years to finally gain access."

"Two years? The Centre archives have firewalls and passwords that are changed on a monthly basis and . . ."

"I'm your daughter," she grinned.

TBC

Note: I know this is a long time coming. Thanks to all of you who have sent emails asking for an update. I'm sorry this is not as long as I was hoping it would be but my muse just won't cooperate with this story lately. In any case - thanks for reading! Lisa


	15. part 15

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty

by imagine

Part 15/?

Jarod sat on the edge of the bed with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and waited patiently for his mother to speak. It had been almost ten minutes since Sydney left them alone. During that time, the only thing she had said was that she was glad he was all right.

Her eyes touched almost everything in the room before she sat in the chair beside the bed. When she took his hand and openly began to study the lines on his face, Jarod realized, for the first time, that they were strangers. Except for the years he barely remembered, they only had the events of the past few days in common.

"I have dreamed of having you back for so long, I'm still having trouble believing it's true."

"I know the feeling. When Kyle was killed," he admitted, "I was afraid the Centre would never let us be a family. But, then I found Dad, and he found Emily, and, now you're here. It's almost like a dream come true."

"Yes, it is," she grinned. Then, glancing at the door, she said, "It's almost perfect."

"Mom, I've told you before, they're my friends," he said. "They were there for me when . . ."

"I wasn't."

"That's not what I was going to say."

"Maybe not," she sighed, "but, it's the truth."

He opened his mouth to protest but she silenced him with a shake of her head.

"I made some bad choices - no - some horrible choices that had horrible consequences for all of us but, especially, for you and Kyle. I never stopped searching for both of you," she announced, abruptly bringing her eyes up to his. "You know I looked for you, don't you? You know that I tried to keep you safe?"

"Yes, of course I do and Kyle knew it, too," he said. "We never blamed you, or Dad, for what happened. All we ever wanted was to find you and be a family again."

Oblivious to her son's worried expression, Margaret released a sigh and glanced over her shoulder at the slightly open window. He followed her line of vision and frowned, instinctively knowing what she was thinking about. Leaning over, he slipped his hand gently under her chin and turned her attention back on him.

"We are a family," he told her, "and, soon, we'll all be together again. Concentrate on that, on how happy we will be, not on the things the Centre did to us."

"Do you remember anything from . . . before?"

Straightening up, Jarod nodded and shrugged at the same time. "A little."

"Do you remember the night they took you?"

Her voice was soft and hesitant and, for a brief moment, Jarod considered lying to his mother. Though his kidnapping was not a new memory, it haunted him more than any other and he did not want to relive it. Not now. Not when he was so close to finding the life the Centre stole from him.

"It isn't my only memory," he finally answered, "At least I don't think it is. I have dreams of me, as a boy, playing with a toy airplane while you hang sheets on a clothesline."

In an instant, her eyes began to sparkle. "You loved that plane. You carried it almost everywhere."

"So, it was real? The memory is real?"

"Yes," she assured him, smiling at the relief that flooded his face. Laying her free hand on top of the one he used to hold the other, she said, "Your father gave it to you for your third birthday. He hoped it might make you feel more secure when he was away."

He considered her last comment for only a moment before asking, "Dad was away a lot, wasn't he?"

"More than either of us would have liked."

"It must have been difficult for you to raise two small boys alone."

"I had family and friends and, even when he was away, I had your father," she said. "I was never alone, Jarod. My life did not become difficult until my children were no longer a part of it."

Dropping his eyes, he nodded and wondered why he had the sudden urge to apologize. When his mother moved from the chair to the bed and sat beside him, he looked up slowly.

"The life your father and I had was right for _us_," she told him Still holding one hand, she used the other to softly stroke his hair. "I understood that what he was doing was important and why, but you were too young. All you knew was that he was seldom home and, naturally, that was very upsetting for you. You used to wake up from a sound sleep, calling out for him. When you found out that he wasn't there, you would tell me you were never going to see him again"

The fact that he had nightmares, before he was brought to the Centre, startled Jarod. As soon as she spoke the words, he dropped his eyes and tightened his grip on her hand. He had always believed the simulations and experiments he'd endured inside the Centre were responsible for his dreams. Now, suddenly, the idea that they may have begun as a result of his father's long absences was seeping into his mind and Jarod was desperate to keep it at bay.

Watching his expression shift from confusion to doubt and back again, Margaret ran her hand across his shoulders then, gently, drew her son toward her. Kissing his forehead, she murmured he shouldn't worry.

"All children have bad dreams, Son," she promised. When he sighed and pulled away, she added, "Yours tapered off after your father gave you the airplane. I think it calmed you because your father told you it was a replica of the plane he flew. And because he gave it to you, of course."

Jarod looked at her, skeptically.

"Don't give me that look," she scolded with a laugh. "You idolized your father. When he was home, you followed him everywhere, imitating his movements. And, when he was with you, your father was in his glory. I used to say that your smiles, and his, were always brightest when he was holding your hand."

The lightness in her voice made Jarod smile but it faded as he began to search his memory for something that resembled what she was telling him. When nothing came, and he felt her hand brush the side of his cheek, Jarod closed his eyes and whispered, "I wish I could remember."

"I know you do, Baby."

After a moment of silence, he asked, "What happened to the airplane?"

Jarod's heart sank as Margaret averted her eyes and moved away from the bed. Her actions were quick and more decisive than they had been. By the time Jarod made it to her side, Margaret had pushed away the heavy curtains and pulled the window closed.

"When I came into your room - that night, I found it, in pieces, on the floor. I spent days trying to fix it because I knew that, when you came home, you would look for it and . . . "

As her words faded, Jarod reached out and gently placed his hand on her arm. When she didn't resist, he stepped closer and pulled her hand from the window latch. Softly sliding his hand into hers, Jarod maintained the heavy silence for almost a full minute before dropping his eyes to their intertwined fingers.

"I don't remember following Dad around, or how important that toy plane was to me," he confessed, "but I never forgot how it felt to have my hand in yours."

Margaret faced the window, trying to hide the tears that had welled in her eyes.

"You always made me feel safe."

"It was your father who made you feel safe."

"No," he insisted, squeezing her hand. "I remember walking with you to school. In one hand, I held the lunch box you bought me. The other was tucked tightly inside yours. I was happy, Mom, and I was safe."

"But you weren't," she answered, pulling her hand away. Her voice cracked as she fought the urge to face him, but Margaret kept her gaze on the falling snow, "I selected that school. I let them test you. You weren't safe, Jarod, because I did everything wrong."

"No, I will never believe that."

Wiping her eyes with both hands, she asked, "Do you remember the car?"

Jarod's brows furrowed at the question. "What car?"

"The car that was parked outside the school," she said, quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Jarod closed his eyes at the memory. He did remember the car and the men who watched them, from inside. Now, he knew they were from the Centre. Then, all he knew was that the car was big and shiny and he had never seen one like it before.

"You pointed them out to me and asked why they were there, but I was in too much of a hurry to turn and look," she continued. "We were running late. I was too focused on the things I promised to do at the school, and the errands I had to run before I had to pick you up. I told you the men were waiting for someone we didn't know and, when you stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk, I told you to pay more attention to what you were doing."

"Mom, you were distracted, that's all."

"No. I was negligent. If I had looked at the car," she hissed, finally swinging around to face him, "I might have recognized the faces and told your father. He might have come home early, or I might have locked your window that night and spent the night in your room. Instead, I dismissed them. I dismissed you."

"You're wrong," he whispered, pulling her to his chest, "The Centre would have found a way, no matter what you did that day. What happened wasn't your fault."

* * *

Miss Parker paced impatiently in front of the door. Her arms were folded across her chest and her eyes were trained angrily on the man blocking her path. Periodically, he glanced at his watch and then momentarily met her gaze, but he said nothing.

"Sydney, this is ridiculous," she spat. "You can't stand there all night."

"Maybe not," he replied, "but I can stand here long enough to give them the privacy they deserve."

"You know I could knock you aside without breaking a sweat."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You could try but I think your time would be better spent helping Broots and Debbie."

Glancing at the two huddled around the laptop, she shook her head. "They have things under control. Considering how often they've done it already, accessing the Centre mainframe should be a piece of cake, but Broots does not expect to be able to hack into the Police Department's system for a few hours."

"And when he does, what is it you hope to find?"

"The box," she answered, turning to face the hackers, "We need to make sure the police still have it in their possession. If Alex or Cox, or anyone else from the Centre, gets to it before we do, the game is over."

"The game?"

She sighed and faced the stern man. "A figure of speech."

"Why is this box so important?"

"It's not," she sighed. "The contents that are what is important."

Tilting his head to one side, the psychiatrist asked, "And what might those contents be?"

"As soon as you let me talk to Jarod and his mother," she snapped, "I'll tell you."

* * *

Pulling from her son's embrace, Margaret wiped her eyes and moved toward the bed. Lowering herself to the edge, she watched Jarod take the seat beside her and sighed at his obvious concern.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I did not come in here to dump my guilt on you."

"It's been a stressful couple of days. Once you get some rest, you will feel better."

"No, Jarod, I won't," she whispered, taking his hand. "You need to know what I've done so that you can . . ."

"You haven't done anything."

"That's what I'm trying to tell you, Jarod, I did. I didn't do it intentionally but I did endanger both you and your brother. If it hadn't been for me, the Centre might never have found you."

When he was silent, Margaret took a deep breath and shifted on the bed so she and Jarod were facing each other. She saw his anxiousness and felt his hand begin to tremble but forced herself to speak in a calm, even voice.

"Your father and I had trouble conceiving. For years, we went from doctor to doctor, looking for someone that could help us. Finally, on the recommendation of one of the specialists we'd seen, we found ourselves at a clinic in Atlanta."

"Nugenesis."

"You know about Nugenesis?"

Though Jarod wanted to tell her what had led him to the fertility clinic, he responded with only a nod of his head. Something inside of him was insisting he let his mother tell her story, first.

Understanding his silence, Margaret did not question him further. "The people there were the best in their field. They had all the latest equipment and were aware of all the medical advances. Your father was unsure about meeting with them, and submitting to their tests, but he agreed because I asked him to. Nugenesis was our last hope and I wanted children so badly, Jarod, I would have done anything they asked."

He heard the tone in her voice shift from explanation to desperation. She not only wanted him to understand, she needed him to.

"Six months later, I was pregnant and, when you were born, you were perfect," she grinned. When he blushed and dropped his gaze, his mother laughed and took his hand. "You made everything - all the tests, all the tears, and all the pain - worthwhile."

He listened as she told him about his birth and smiled shyly at the stories she told about his inquisitiveness and intelligence, all while watching her face light up with the memories. The things she told him were things he had always wanted to hear, little things he had wondered about over the years. But, now, Jarod found he was nervous. There was something lurking in the shadows of her voice, something he was not sure he wanted revealed.

"Your father and I went back to Atlanta several times over the course of a year," she continued. "Sometimes we went together, sometimes we were alone, but we submitted to strings of tests and followed the protocol that was outlined for us because we wanted another child. Kyle was born when you were almost two and a half. He was just as perfect as you were. The two of you were the most important people in the world, to us and we would have done anything for you."

"We were a family."

"Yes," she beamed. "Kyle was still an infant when you started showing signs of being gifted. Your father thought I was being biased. He said it was natural for me to think you were of above intelligence. After almost a year, when Kyle started showing the same traits, he finally indulged me and agreed to have you both tested."

Jarod smiled. "Did you gloat much when the results came back?"

"Every chance I got," she replied, matching his grin. Then, suddenly, the smile faded. "Because of those tests, I persuaded your father to let me enroll you at the same school that had conducted the tests. It was within walking distance of the house and, though he wasn't happy with the idea because you were only four, your father he agreed. Two weeks later, you were gone. A year later, they took Kyle."

* * *

"What are you saying?"

Margaret forced herself to look at her son and spoke in a calm, even voice, "After you were taken, we discovered that the school was connected to Nugenesis and, in turn, to the Centre."

"Even if that's true," he said, straining to keep the emotion from his voice, "it's not your fault. You did what you believed was right. You had no idea that the school would report my test results to Nugenesis, or anyone else, that could hurt me."

"I should have," she said, "I should have known because I knew they were sending mine."

"What did you find out?"

Broots looked up at the woman, a big grin plastered across his face. "I found out my daughter is an experienced and highly skilled hacker."

Glancing at the girl, who smiled shyly then nervously dropped her eyes, Miss Parker turned back on the tech and raised an eyebrow. "I'm happy for you both," she snapped, "Now, concentrate, Broots. The box. I need to know what you found out about the box."

Instantly, the man's smile slipped but, as he turned back to the monitor, he shot a quick wink at his daughter. "Well, um, Debbie managed to get into the mainframe without any trouble. Getting into the databases that hold evidence information and case reports, however, proved to be a little trickier. Individual firewalls and passwords were set up to protect the information."

"Cut to the chase. Did you get the information or not?"

"We got it," Debbie interjected. Sensing Miss Parker's impatience, she forced herself to continue with confidence, "The box is still there and, according to the files, no one has tried to claim it yet. After they brought it to the hospital, and found out Jarod was gone, they locked it up and haven't looked at it since."

"So no one has opened it?"

"According to the records, they tried," the girl answered, "but they couldn't break the lock or figure out the combination."

"What about the Centre?" Miss Parker asked, looking at Broots, "Do they know about the box or what Alex and Cox are up to?"

"I couldn't find anything to suggest they even know Alex is alive," he shrugged.

"But?"

"But, well, I did find something odd. Well, to be honest, it's what I _didn't _find that was odd."

Annoyance seeping into her voice, Miss Parker hissed, "And that was?"

"Cox told you he had been working on finding Margaret for the Centre, right?"

She nodded.

"Well, there's nothing in the mainframe to support that claim," he said, motioning toward the monitor. "According to what I found, teams were put in place to find Margaret and Major Charles right after Jarod escaped. Cox was not part of any of the teams and they were all dissolved a year later, due to funding."

"You told me the safe house Cox was using was being used as headquarters for Operation Prophecy. Are you telling me, now, that the project doesn't exist?"

He shook his head. "No, the project exists, but it has nothing to do with finding Margaret. At least, not in the sense that the Centre wanted to use her to find Jarod. According to what Debbie and I found, Operation Prophecy is charged with locating and authenticating the scrolls."

A myriad of expressions crossed her face then, with a sudden and throaty, "I knew it!", Miss Parker turned on Sydney. "Out of my way, Freud," she snapped, "I have questions and there's only one person in this cabin that has any answers."

* * *

"They were sending yours? I don't understand."

Reaching around him, Margaret tugged at the blanket he had discarded and pulled it back over his shoulders. When he took her hands, and asked her what she meant, she slowly continued her story.

"When I brought you for testing, the school informed me that they were conducting a study and asked me to participate."

"What kind of study?"

"They were trying to determine the genetic markers in a parent that decided the intelligence level of the children."

Jarod thought about the gene he carried that identified him as a pretender and wondered, briefly, if his mother was aware of its existence. More importantly, though, he wondered if the school's study determined he inherited it from her. Just as he was about to explain his thoughts, the door opened and Jarod turned to find Miss Parker standing at the threshold.

"As much as I hate to break up this family reunion," she said, moving into the room, "I think it's time all of us have a serious discussion."

"Parker, not now," he said, tiredly. "Please. We're in the middle of something important."

"Is that so? And does this 'something important' have anything to do with the metal box the police found in the trunk of your car?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he snarled, "the DSA's are nowhere near here."

"I am not referring to the DSA's," she replied. Crossing her arms, Miss Parker turned her gaze on Margaret. "Am I?"

The older woman took a deep breath and, sliding her hands from her sons, she stood and crossed to where Miss Parker stood. The two glared at each other, Margaret silently cursing Miss Parker for interfering and the brunette silently daring Jarod's mother to tell the truth. It wasn't until Jarod called their names that the women looked away, each taking a step back.

"What are you talking about?" Though the question was not directed, specifically, to either one of them, he let his gaze fall on Parker.

"Broots spoke with Emma yesterday. He said she told him the police came to the hospital with the metal box, looking for you."

"Who is Emma?"

"The nurse who took care of me," Jarod answered, glancing at his mother. When the woman dropped her eyes and moved from the bed, he frowned. "What do you know about this box, Mom? Is it something important?"

Rubbing her forehead, the woman nodded. "I need to get it back as quickly as possible."

"Why? What's in it?" Miss Parker demanded.

Raising her eyes to the brunette, she answered, "The scrolls."

"That's impossible. My father took them with him when he jumped out of the airplane. They're at the bottom of the ocean."

"Your father took forgeries with him, when he jumped. I've had the originals for years." Then facing her son, she added, "They're the only thing I had to keep you safe. Without them, our entire family may be in danger."

"You've had them?" Miss Parker spat, grabbing Margaret by the arm. "How is that possible?"

The moment Miss Parker put her hands on his mother, Jarod saw Margaret's hand clench and he was on his feet. Stepping between them, he shot a warning look at his mother then placed his hands gently on Miss Parker's shoulders. Bringing his eyes to hers, he told her, softly, that she would get her answers.

"Right now, though, I want you to go into the other room. I need to talk to my mother."

"I'm not leaving until she tells me how she got those scrolls, Jarod. My father died because of them."

"I know. I promise, you'll get all your answers. Just give me a few more minutes with my mother."

Miss Parker looked over his shoulder at Margaret then back at the dark, pleading eyes of the Pretender.

"You trust her, don't you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Why? And, don't tell me it's because she's your mother."

Rewarding her demand with a lopsided smile, he ushered her to the door and answered, "I trust her for the same reason I trust you, Parker. I don't have any other choice."

TBC

feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	16. part 16

Note: I know that my posts are few and far between -but real life is cutting into FF time. I have no idea when the next chapter to this story will be done but I can guarantee it won't be until after the New Year. Thanks for being so patient and, more importantly ...

Happy Holidays to you all!

* * *

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty

by imagine

When Jarod emerged from the bedroom, almost forty minutes after he'd been left with his mother, he was alone. Quietly closing the door behind him, he crossed to the fireplace, where Miss Parker and Sydney were waiting. Without looking at either of them, he picked up the poker and stabbed at the charred logs in the hearth.

"My mother will be out in a few minutes," he said.

"Is everything all right?" Sydney asked.

A myriad of responses sprung to mind but, almost as quickly, Jarod decided to keep them to himself. It wasn't Sydney's fault that he was having trouble reconciling the mother he'd imagined all these years to the woman in the next room. Looking at his mentor, the Pretender forced a smile then patted the older man's shoulder and shook his head. "Everything is fine, Sydney. I'm just tired."

"Maybe you should sit."

"I've been sitting too much."

Leaning the poker against the edge of the fireplace, Jarod crossed to the windows as the bedroom door opened again. Though Miss Parker and Sydney faced the new arrival, he kept his gaze on the falling snow.

Margaret glanced around the room, frowning slightly when her son did not turn toward her. Without a word, she moved past the brunette and the psychiatrist, stopping slightly behind Jarod. When he still kept his gaze on the view outside, she softly slid her arm around his and moved between him and the window.

"Jarod, we weren't done."

"Yes, we were," he answered calmly. His eyes shifted from the snowfall to his mother's hazel eyes. "You are not leaving."

"Leaving?" Miss Parker repeated, glaring at the two. "Who is leaving?"

When Jarod pulled from her gentle hold and turned his eyes back on the falling snow, Margaret faced the woman and answered, "I am. The sooner the better."

"We've been over this," Jarod said, in a low, clear voice, "You are not going by yourself."

"I don't want to leave, Baby, I don't have a choice."

"There is always a choice."

"As much as I'm enjoying this little family spat, would the two of you mind letting the rest of us in on this conversation?" Miss Parker interjected.

After releasing a heavy sigh, Jarod answered in a deep, dull voice. "My mother has decided she should get the metal box on her own."

"And my son seems to think I am incapable of performing such a task."

"I am not doubting your capabilities," he hissed, glaring at her, "It is a matter of your safety."

"Jarod is right," Sydney offered. "Margaret, if you do this, you will be traveling very close to the house occupied by Alex and Cox. By traveling alone, you will . ."

"I have been on my own for decades," the woman interrupted, angrily, "I don't see how this situation is any different for me than the situations of the last thirty plus years."

"Maybe that is the problem," Jarod replied, quietly.

Shifting her attention from Sydney to her son, Margaret's expression softened. Taking a deep breath, she moved back to his side. "Jarod, I told you days ago that our being together was not safe. I told you the Centre would come after us and, not only have they done as I predicted, but they almost killed you. I will not allow that to happen again."

"Um, actually, only Alex and Mr. Cox have come after you," Broots replied, interrupting Jarod's response. "From what Debbie and I have found, I don't think anyone at the Centre actually knows the two of you have found each other."

"What are you talking about, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked, allowing his voice mirror the fatigue that was washing over him.

Though Jarod did not leave his place at the window, his mother moved away, anxiously pacing the length of the room as Broots quickly explained what he and Debbie had uncovered about Operation Prophecy. When he finished, he looked nervously from the skepticism in Jarod's gaze to the confidence in Miss Parker's. As if on cue, the brunette moved to his side, drawing the Pretender's concentration from him to her.

"Alex and Cox are working on their own," Miss Parker said, "There are three locked rooms, at the safe house. One of them is filled with reams of binders, and each contains photos, newspaper clippings and personal information, such as names of people they trust."

"And why do you find this odd?" Jarod dared. "I am not naive, Parker, I have no doubt that the Centre has been compiling data about my family."

"Jarod, you don't understand. Alex and Cox have gathered more information about your family, primarily you and your mother, than the Centre has ever dreamed of. They are not sharing what they find."

"Forgive me for not being upset with their selfishness," he snapped. "Besides, even if they are working on their own, what possible reason could they have?"

"The scrolls."

"What?"

"They want the scrolls," she repeated.

Sensing Jarod's frustration and desperation, Sydney used his calmest voice when he added, "The second room we were shown contains reference materials about documents produced between the 12th and 17th centuries. They do not believe the scrolls were destroyed when Mr. Parker jumped from the airplane."

Jarod's shoulders slumped slightly at the information. Averting his eyes from his mentor, he watched his mother continue her trek from one wall of the room to the other. Her arms were folded in front of her and she shook her head slightly as she moved, her eyes concentrating on her feet.

"What about the third room?"

"We never gained access," Sydney responded.

"Based on what we did see, we believe Alex and Cox are planning on authenticating the scrolls, once they're recovered, and using the contents to their advantage," Miss Parker continued, glancing at Margaret but keeping her words directed at Jarod. "Which brings us back to your mother, the only person with any knowledge of the scrolls or their whereabouts. It is important she tell us what she knows."

"I've already told you everything," Margaret replied, finally looking up.

"Like hell you have," she snarled, grabbing the woman's arm as she started toward her son, "All you've told us is that the scrolls are locked in that metal case. I want to know how that is possible, considering Jarod and I found them on Carthis. We saw them."

"You saw forgeries. Forgeries your mother helped me make."

Parker's eyes widened, but she said nothing.

"Mom, please, you need to tell her. If you don't, I will."

"Tell me what?"

Pulling out of the woman's hold, which had suddenly loosened, Margaret took a step back. After taking a deep breath, continued in a softer tone, her eyes trained steadily on Miss Parker. "About a year before she died, your mother contacted us through a mutual friend."

"Harriet Tashman," Miss Parker murmured.

"That's right," she sighed. "At first, Charles and I were suspicious of Catherine but, as time went on, we decided she was sincere when she told us she wanted to help us get our boys back."

"Okay, so you and my mother were acquaintances. That does not explain . ."

"We were more than acquaintances," she replied, pivoting so that she and Miss Parker were facing each other again, "Catherine became a very close and trusted friend. She told us everything we needed to know about Jarod and Kyle. She told us how they were, where they were, and what they were being subjected to. As strange as it seems, every bit of information we had about the boys comforted us, and made us more determined to bring them home."

Hesitating, Margaret glanced at Jarod, but the man still had his back to the room. Releasing a soft breath, she faced Miss Parker and continued, "Your mother helped us develop a plan to rescue them. It was dangerous but Charles felt that, with your mother's help, he could pull it off."

"Where were you during all of this?"

"Emily was still a baby. I stayed behind to take care of her and prepare the loft for the boys. Charles had already set up their beds, but it was important to me that the loft feel like a home. I knew that, after being separated from us for so long, and enduring the life that had been forced on them, Jarod and Kyle would need to feel safe. Harriet and I spent hours washing clothes, bed linens and walls. We hung posters, placed stuffed animals, books, assorted colored paper and pencils near their beds, and . . ." Shaking her head, Margaret let her voice fade and wiped her eyes. Swallowing hard, she adopted a stronger voice and continued, "But they never came. Charles never came. Your mother never came. By the time night fell, I was frantic, so when your mother called at dawn, I almost jumped out of my skin."

"My mother contacted** _you_**?"

Ignoring Miss Parker's incredulous tone, Margaret nodded. "She told me that Charles had been shot and, even though she promised he would be cared for, all kinds of terrible things went through my head. When she said that I needed to take Emily and disappear, I heard myself accusing her of betraying us and threatening to make her pay for hurting my family. That was when your mother told me what she had done. Up until that moment, I had not realized that she had carried out her part of their plan and what it had cost her."

"What do you mean, her part?"

"Your mother was supposed to cause a diversion so that Charles could infiltrate the Centre."

"A diversion. You mean, like fake her death?" she spat. "My mother did what she did, abandoned and traumatized me, because she was trying to help you rescue Jarod and Kyle? I don't believe you."

"We had no idea how she planned to carry out her part of the plan," Margaret answered softly. "But, Charles was supposed to rescue Kyle, Jarod . . . and you. Catherine was very explicit about this. She said you and Jarod were very close and that Jarod would be able to convince you to go with them. Your mother was supposed to meet us at the farm, the next day, and all of us would disappear."

"But my mother didn't go to the Tashman farm, she went to a house in the woods, with Raines," Miss Parker countered, taking a few steps away from the other woman. Her eyes flew between Jarod, who still had his back to the room, to Sydney, "She had a secret meeting with Jarod and told him that I must continue her plan. She gave birth to Ethan and then Raines murdered her."

"I know."

As she paced the width of the room, Miss Parker desperately tried to make sense of the information she had just been fed. If what Margaret said was true, then the things Sydney had told her about her mother's faked death had new meaning. And, despite her eagerness to know the truth, Miss Parker was not sure she wanted to continue exploring her mother's intentions because, it seemed, every time she did, she discovered more than she wanted to know. Though the younger woman refused to make eye contact with anyone as she moved steadily across the room, she could feel the weight of Margaret's gaze. For the first time since meeting her, Miss Parker felt as if Margaret sympathized.

"Your mother did not abandon you, Parker," Jarod said, quietly breaking the heavy silence, "When she faked her death in that elevator, she believed she had done everything to ensure you would be safe. She wanted you to be safe. By the time she found out you were not, it was too late for her to undo what she had done."

Immediately, her eyes found his, in the reflection of the window. "You knew? You knew my mother planned to leave me with your family, and you didn't tell me?" Even as the accusations crossed her lips, Miss Parker was telling herself that she was a fool for thinking he would not revert to the mind games he'd played for years. "How long have you known, Jarod? How long have you been keeping this secret?"

"I just found out a few minutes ago," he answered, using a soft and apologetic tone.

She allowed him to hold her gaze, through the reflection, long enough to convince herself that he was telling the truth. Then, suddenly, Miss Parker jerked her head to the left and glared at Margaret.

"Why are you telling me this now? What does any of this have to do with the scrolls?"

"If you want to know about the forgeries, then you need to know how they came to be. May I continue?"

Miss Parker replied with a stiff nod.

"I did as your mother asked and left the farm without my husband. About a month later, she managed to contact me in Boston. First, she told me Charles had disappeared from the Centre before she could tell him how to find me. The news was devastating. I had no idea if my husband was still a prisoner, if he'd escaped and was trying to find me, or if he was dead. Your mother waited, patiently, as I dealt with the news, then told me she'd recently discovered why my boys were taken. She said it was only fair that I knew the truth."

Under her breath, Miss Parker repeated the last two words Margaret had spoken and shook her head. After wiping her face with her hands, she folded her arms in front of her and stared at the other woman. "Go on."

"Catherine and I only saw each other once more, but we spoke, on the telephone, several times over the coming months. Each time, she told me more about the scrolls and, soon, we were working on her plan to replace them with forgeries."

"Did Catherine tell you what was written in the originals?" Sydney asked.

"No," she answered, shaking her head. "All she told me was that they could be easily misinterpreted and that I should never read them."

"Then how could you be sure that what you were writing would help?"

"I couldn't," Margaret admitted, watching Miss Parker resume pacing, "but Catherine could. She said she knew enough to know the scrolls contained prophecies that would cause our children, and our children's children, to be prisoners their entire lives."

"_**Our**_ children?" Miss Parker repeated, skepticism seeping into her voice, "Did my mother use the word 'our', or are you being dramatic?"

"I am telling you exactly what she said," she answered softly, "As strange as it may sound, your mother was as worried about you, Miss Parker, as I was about my boys. She was terrified of what that place, and your father, would do to you."

At the mention of her father, every muscle in Miss Parker's body stiffened.

Though she didn't see him, simultaneously, Jarod turned away from the window and quietly moved behind her. Placing his hands placed protectively on her shoulders, he ignored her startled response and leaned forward until their bodies touched. Suddenly, she felt herself relax. He said nothing but, in the time it took for her to release the breath she was holding, Miss Parker watched Margaret lower her eyes and back away.

"Your mother was trying to protect you," he whispered. "She was torn between protecting you and protecting Ethan. I believe that, if she had known about Lyle, she would have been trying to protect him, as well. She loved you, Parker, and everything she did, she did because she wanted a better life for her children. Some things just didn't go the way she planned."

"The story of her life," she whispered back, sadly.

"My mother has managed to find and replace all but one of the scrolls," Jarod said. Turning her to face him, he added, "She had been carrying them with her, all these years, because Catherine insisted that all the originals be destroyed at the same time."

"Why?"

"We don't know."

"All I know is that she said it was important that they be collected and destroyed as soon as possible," Margaret offered.

"And, yet, it took you more than three decades to carry it out," she snapped.

"The point is," Jarod interjected, raising his voice enough to keep his mother from reacting to the harshness of Parker's tone, "that the three original scrolls, as well as one forgery, are now sitting in a police station four hours away. If Alex, Cox, or anyone else from the Centre manages to get their hands on them, _everything_ your mother did will have been for naught. We have to finish your mother's plan."

His last words made her look directly into his dark brown eyes. She searched them for a moment then, quietly, said, "You think destroying the scrolls was what my mother intended, when she told you I had to finish her work."

"We've known, all along, that your mother had a plan to save children," he said.

"So, we're the children she wanted to save. We're not children anymore, Jarod."

"No, we're not, but Catherine told my mother that destroying the scrolls would protect us AND our children."

"Which is why I must leave," Margaret said, abruptly interrupting the private conversation. "The sooner I claim my case, the better."

"Mom, I told you," he protested, moving slowly away from Miss Parker, "the police did their best to convince me you were dead because they believe it to be true."

"Well, I'm just going to have to convince them they were wrong, aren't I?"

"Exactly, how do you plan on doing that?" he dared.

"The case they have is mine. I can identify it, and every object inside."

"That's great. Were you listening, when Debbie told us the police have not been able to open the case? You can't identify something they can't see."

"I can open it. I am the only person who can open it."

"And you're willing to do that, in front of them?" he asked, after a slight hesitation.

Suddenly, Margaret fell silent.

Awkwardly, Jarod reached for the chair by the fireplace and began to lower himself into the overstuffed cushions. "We have to think of something else."

Miss Parker watched Jarod's slow movements and cocked her head to one side. When he let out a soft sigh as his body finally came to rest, she took a step toward him and asked, "You're in pain, aren't you?"

"I'm fine," he replied. His voice was rough and, though his eyes quickly darted from her to Sydney to Margaret, she noticed they lacked the sharpness they normally held.

"You're a liar."

"I just need to rest," he replied, leaning his head back. "In a few hours, I will be as good as new and I will take my mother to the police department."

"Like hell you will. If it's dangerous for your mother, it's suicide for you."

"She's right, Jarod. I told you, I can handle this on my own. In fact, if I leave now . . ."

"No." He looked up at Parker, and then at his mother, as they flanked him. "There are too many things that can go wrong and I am not willing to lose you. Not again."

"The longer we wait, the better the chances we will never get the scrolls back."

"I understand why you want to leave, but you have to believe me, it is not safe. Please, wait until tomorrow. My head will be clearer and . . ."

"Jarod, there is no guarantee you are going to be strong enough to do this with me tomorrow, either," she said, softly stroking his forehead. "You need to rest."

"As much as I hate to admit it, your mother is right," Miss Parker murmured. "You are in no condition to go anywhere. Someone else has to escort her."

"What are you suggesting?" he asked as she moved toward the fireplace. When she pulled her gun from its holster and checked the clip, his eyes widened and then he shook his head. "The two of you will kill each other before you get out of the driveway."

"Probably," she conceded, "but we don't have any other options, do we?"

"Of course we do," Sydney replied, moving to the space beside Jarod that Miss Parker had just vacated. "I will escort your mother."

"You?"

Miss Parker shook her head. "Absolutely not. You're needed here, Sydney, in case Jarod has a relapse or something."

"I would not suggest leaving, if I thought there was any danger of a relapse."

"Um, I don't know," Broots began, "but, it seems, to me, that Alex and Cox will probably have someone watching the police station. I mean, if they think Margaret had the scrolls with her, at the time of the accident, they might be doing the same thing we are. They might be checking the database for information about what was recovered from the crash."

"In which case, they know what has and has not been returned to me," Jarod finished, thoughtfully.

"Right," the technician nodded. "So, the police station isn't safe for any of us."

"Unlike Alex and Cox, though, we know, for a fact, that the scrolls are there," Miss Parker pointed out, "and we need to get them back. So, all we have to do is figure a way in, without being seen."

"Or, we could have the police bring the box to us," Broots offered, hesitantly.

"Last time I checked, they local law enforcement agencies weren't being subsidized by Federal Express," she snapped. "They don't deliver."

"They delivered to Jarod, at the hospital," the man pointed out.

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked.

"Well," he sighed, "you said, yourself, that the police think your mother is dead, right? That's why they kept bringing her things to the hospital."

"That's right," Jarod nodded, "They knew I was her son."

"How did they know? Did you ever tell them?"

"Well, no," the Pretender shrugged, glancing around the room, "I was unconscious."

"Right. So, until you came around, all they knew, for sure, was that you were in the car when it went off the bridge. They thought the items they were returning, were yours. After they found out your mother was in the car with you, and determined that she had died, they saw nothing wrong with giving you her things," he explained. Feeling more confident with each word, Broots moved closer to where Jarod sat as he continued, "When Emma told them you had been discharged, they had nothing else to do with what they found but lock it up and hope you came back for it."

"So, what's your point?" Parker demanded.

"What if they got a call, from someone they know, telling them they were wrong about Jarod's mother? What if they found out she was alive?"

"They would give me the box," Margaret answered, "But, haven't we been over this? Short of me walking into the station and opening it in front of them . . ."

"What about Emma?" he interrupted.

"What about her?" Jarod asked.

"If Emma called the police station and told them that a woman was brought into the hospital, rambling about the accident . . ."

"They would send someone out to investigate," Jarod finished. Turning his eyes on Parker, he asked, "It's not a bad plan. Alex and Cox have no reason to be watching the hospital. Do you think Emma would help?"

"Well," the woman replied, retrieving her cell phone, "there's one way to find out."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	17. Part 17

Guilty

by imagine

part 17/?

She rapped lightly on the door before opening it and, without invitation, stepping inside. Immediately, she was assaulted by the thick heat emanating from the fireplace. The smell of burning ash and the sounds of crackling wood also demanded her attention but, instead of moving toward the hearth, where he stood, she crossed to the chair beside the bed.

"I don't remember inviting you inside."

"Funny, I don't remember asking for permission."

Glaring at her over his shoulder, Jarod narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Parker?"

"I want a lot of things," she admitted, lowering herself into the chair. "But, I'll settle for you telling me why you're in here, pouting like a spoiled child."

"I am not pouting," he said, taking another stab at the flames.

"Then, what would you call it? You got what you wanted, Jarod. Your mother agreed to follow your plan. Yet, ever since she and Sydney left, you've holed yourself up in your room."

"First of all," he replied, turning away from the fireplace, "it wasn't my plan. The idea belongs to Broots. I just helped get it into motion."

"Semantics."

"And, secondly, you know, as well as I do, that my mother only agreed because it got her one step closer to her goal."

"And, what was that?"

When he did not respond, she sighed and shook her head. "So, you're pouting because your mother had her own agenda?"

"For the last time," he snapped, "I am not pouting."

"Okay, you're brooding, then. Either way, you've managed to isolate yourself for the past six hours and, we both know that solitary confinement can be a dangerous thing for you."

"Careful," he muttered, placing the wrought iron poker against the warm brick, "someone might think you actually care."

"Would that bother you?"

Startled by the question, Jarod crossed his arms and turned his eyes toward the window. Thick gray clouds blocked the sun and, if it was still snowing, the flakes were so light he couldn't see them from where he stood. The bend in the trees, however, told him that the wind had picked up considerably. When the windowpane shook, verifying his thoughts, Jarod moved away from the fireplace and abruptly yanked at the curtains.

In the beginning, she watched his nervous movements out of a sense of curiosity. This man was one of the few people in the world that, she believed, understood her. He knew when she needed comfort, when she needed privacy and, more importantly, when she needed to hear the truth. Though Sydney claimed that Jarod's ability to read her stemmed from their close childhood friendship, and that she could do the same, it was times like this that Miss Parker had her doubts. It was obvious that something was weighing heavily on his mind but, she had no idea what it might be and no idea what to do to help him.

"Jarod, talk to me."

"Leave it alone, Parker," he said quietly.

Still standing in front of the shaded window, Jarod had a tight grip on one drapery panel and stared through the inch wide gap at the snow capped bluffs in the distance. Slowly rising from her chair, Miss Parker moved to where he stood and slipped her hand around his.

"Not a chance."

He sighed and tightened his grip on her hand.

"She's not coming back," he mumbled. "Once she has the case, and the scrolls, my mother plans on disappearing."

"You don't know that, for sure."

"Of course I do, and so do you," he frowned. "My mother believes I will be safer without her."

"And, so you took that information, simmed her and decided you were never going to see her again."

"I didn't have to run a simulation."

"But you did, didn't you?"

With a heavy sigh, Jarod nodded and moved around her. "Yes."

She crossed her arms and watched him move toward the bed. "There is always a possibility that you left out a few important facts that could change everything."

He looked at her and raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. "It's doubtful."

She waited until he sat on the edge of the mattress before returning to his side. Even with his head lowered and cradled in his hands, she knew he was watching her approach. Softly, she slid her hand to his shoulder, leaned into him and whispered, "Your mother has abandoned you once already, this week, Jarod, I have no intention of letting her do it again."

Looking up, Jarod cocked his head to one side and stared at the brunette.

"Now, let's get out of here," she said, suddenly rising from her seat and pulling at his arm. "Broots took Debbie into town. They're going to buy some supplies and stop for dinner, so they won't be back for a few more hours. So, we're on our own and I'm getting hungry."

Jarod caught her eyes then glanced toward the door. "We're alone?"

Miss Parker stepped back and, letting her hand from his, moved toward the door. Without even glancing in his direction, she asked, "Does that bother you?"

"That depends," he answered, allowing a playful tone to his voice as he followed the woman into the next room, "Are you planning on cooking?"

* * *

Deciding against the soup his mother had prepared earlier, Jarod and Miss Parker raided the refrigerator. Opting for omelets, salad and bread as their evening meal, the two began working together to prepare the food. Unfortunately, the small kitchen kept them in close proximity and, subsequently, an awkwardness they could not explain.

After a few false starts, though, they found that discussing the preparation of their dinner, helped ease their tension. Slowly, their dialogue shifted into a conversation that revolved around a time in their lives when they had been completely at ease with each other. And, by the time the eggs were done and the table was set, Miss Parker and Jarod had begun to slip back into the familiarity of their childhood.

"I saw ice cream in the freezer," he told her, grinning as he shoveled the last of his omelet into his mouth. "So, save room for desert."

"Amazing. I have never seen anyone look so happy at the thought of a food, as you do when you're talking about ice cream. Or Pez."

"Don't you remember the first time you brought a box of Cracker Jack for me and Angelo? I think it was the first time I ever saw him truly happy."

"But it took me so long to get him to try it," she complained.

"Can you blame him? He and I were raised on nutritional supplements, wheat grass and carrot juice. Carmel popcorn and peanuts was new to us."

"It never occurred to me that neither of you had ever tasted it before, so I wasn't prepared to have to convince you that it was safe to try . . ."

"The look on his face, though, when he finally found the courage to put a piece in his mouth, was priceless," he interrupted, flashing her a quick grin as he picked up the knife and began slicing a loaf of French bread. When her smile faded, though, Jarod stopped what he was doing and reached for her hand.

"Parker, it was a long time ago. Let it go."

"I thought I had," she admitted, pushing back her chair.

"It wasn't your fault. You didn't know I would have such a violent reaction," he said softly. "Neither of us knew I was allergic to nuts."

"You almost died."

"But, I didn't. In fact, if I remember correctly, you were the one who saved my life."

She shook her head and pulled her hand from his. "I didn't do anything but run."

"You ran for help," he corrected. Slipping his hand under her chin, when she turned away, Jarod brought her gaze back on him and said, "You brought Sydney. You saved my life."

Sighing heavily, Miss Parker stood and began clearing the table. When she reached for his plate, however, the Pretender rose to his full height and moved between her and the table.

"You saved my life," he repeated. Taking the plate from her, he placed it back on the table and then, gently, slid his hands to shoulders. "If it had not been for you, I would never have . . . "

"Stop."

"Not until you understand what you did that day."

Pulling away from him, Parker glared at Jarod and continued angrily, "Stop romanticizing what happened. The truth of the matter is that I goaded you into eating the Cracker Jack."

"No."

"I told you that one taste wouldn't kill you," she spat, pivoting away when he reached for her.

"Parker, please, don't do this."

"When you started to go into shock, I got scared and I ran," she hissed, facing him again. "I didn't run for help, Jarod, but I did, literally, run into Sydney."

He heard the panic in her voice and took a step toward her. Matching his movements, Miss Parker backed away. Even after he came to a stop, she continued until she was at the edge of the room.

"The fact that you survived that episode was nothing more than coincidence."

"I don't believe in coincidence."

"Then call it luck or fate or divine intervention, if you want, just don't make me out to be your hero. Sydney saved your life, Jarod, not me."

Without giving him a chance to respond, Miss Parker turned her back to him and leaned against the wall adjacent to his bedroom. He waited almost a full minute, watching her struggle to regain control of her emotions, then moved behind her. His hands came up, and hovered over her shoulders a moment, then softly dropped back to his side.

Leaning as close to her as he dared, he whispered, "I don't know why we don't remember that day the same way, Miss Parker, but, trust me, you are the reason my heart is still beating."

Something in his voice, some tone she could not identify, made her face him. His dark eyes were glistening and, though he opened his mouth to speak, Jarod suddenly changed his mind and looked away. As she stared at him, wondering how they had gone from talking about the proper way to beat an egg to an event that scarred them as children, Jarod moved closer. Before she could even think about stopping him, he passed his lips over hers. A moment later, the chaste kiss dissolved into one filled with passion and thirty years of denial.

* * *

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Gentle, caressing strokes became fevered and urgent while his lips and tongue traveled across her face and down her neck.

"What are you doing?" she murmured, into his mouth.

He stopped the exploration of her body long enough to grin and slide his fingers over the buttons of her shirt. "If you need me to explain," he replied, resuming the nuzzling of her neck, "I must be doing it wrong."

She arched her back as his teeth lightly scraped her earlobe. His hands slid under her shirt and, as it began to fall from her shoulders, Miss Parker shook her head and took a step backward. Holding one arm out, she kept the Pretender at bay until his dark eyes slid from her chest to her face. She could feel his heart pounding with excitement and his breaths were quick and deep. He looked at her with a mixture of confusion, frustration and bridled delight, reminding her of the expression he'd held when he realized she planned on joining him in the shower. Suddenly, any doubts she had about continuing what they had begun melted away.

"Not here," she said, "Not in the hall."

Sliding her hand into his, she took a step closer, kissed him lightly on the lips and then quickly lead him into the bedroom. The fire in the hearth threw shadows that were long and animate across the walls, but it also gave the room a warmth that no longer seemed stifling.

She released his hand and moved to the edge of the bed, letting her blouse slide from her shoulders before turning to face him. His eyes devoured her in seconds but, when he advanced toward her, Miss Parker deflected his hands and shook her head slightly.

"Not yet," she whispered.

Tugging at the sweatshirt that hid his physique, Miss Parker lowered her head and ran a trail of slow, wet kisses in the wake of the retreating fabric. When her teeth gently scratched his belly button, Jarod inhaled sharply. When her lips gently crossed the bruises on his ribs, he pushed his fingers through her hair. And, when her tongue danced playfully over his left nipple, Jarod yanked the sweatshirt over his head and scooped her into his arms.

"Now," he growled, laying her in the middle of the sleigh bed.

"Now," she smiled.

* * *

"Are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Yes, Sir," he sighed.

"And how is it you are so sure we will find them there? They could be anywhere."

"I told Mr. Cox . . ."

"I don't care what you told Mr. Cox. Tell me."

Biting back the response that he knew Mr. Cox had shared the information with his associate, Victor flipped on the windshield wipers and glanced at the man in the passenger seat. When Alex repeated his demand, the guard turned his attention back on the road.

"This area has a large percentage of absentee landlords, people who use their homes only a few times a year as a vacation home. In the off-season, an acquaintance of mine manages several of these properties, on behalf of their owners," Victor explained, as lightening flashed across the sky. "Considering the weather and Jarod's condition when he left the safe-house, I thought it was doubtful that he could have gone very far that night. So, I contacted my friend on the off-chance that someone might have tried to rent one of the properties at the last minute."

"And, coincidentally, Jarod and his entourage contacted your friend for a place to stay?" he asked, skeptically.

"No. But my friend did some checking and one of the other realtors in the area told him about a man who rented from him the night before the escape. I did some checking and the description matches an associate of Miss Parker's. A gentleman named Mr. Broots."

"We've been on the road for almost three hours," Alex complained, "How much further is this place, Victor?"

Sighing, the sweeper gripped the wheel of the car tighter and answered, "Another forty minutes, give or take a few minutes."

TBC

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	18. part 18

A/N: Okay, for all of you who thought 40 minutes wasn't enough shipper time ... here you go. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty  
by imagine

Part 18?

As Jarod stretched out beside her, she rolled into his arms. His touch was strong and gentle, enveloping her as if she were the most precious thing in the world to him. For the first time in her life, Miss Parker believed that she was.

In the shadows of the firelight, the bruises on his body evaporated, leaving only the dark, familiar face and muscular form she had, secretly, grown to think of as her own. Her hand slid slowly up his chest, through tufts of dark hair and over firm ridges of muscle, absorbing the quiver of each anxious breath. When he dropped his mouth to her fingers, taking them individually between his lips in a slow, moist caress, she ran her free hand along the side of his face and behind his neck, pulling him closer. His lips moved from her fingers to her arm to her shoulder, his kisses becoming more desperate until their mouths met and her breaths became his.

Her leg slid over his, softly running her toes down the length of his thigh and calf while her lips slipped between his lips. It flicked inside his mouth long enough to taunt, retreated, repeating the act several times before she felt him shiver in frustration.

Suddenly rolling onto his back, he pulled the woman on top of him and, as her weight settled across his belly, Jarod's hands moved lightly down her spine. His fingers curled around her buttocks, squeezing them tightly before sliding to her hips. His mouth rose to meet hers but, supporting her weight on his shoulders, the woman pushed him back to the pillows while her hair brushed along his face.

The kiss she bestowed on him was bruising, a deep desperate kiss that left them both panting heavily when she drew back. Though he tried to follow her with his mouth, she held him at bay. His chest rose and fell at a quick pace, his fingers dug into her sides and, more disarmingly, his eyes stared up at her in expectation.

"Are you sure?" she managed. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

He flinched at the questions and dropped his hands to her thighs. Fanning his fingers over the silky flesh, he kept his gaze trained on her and, through his own labored breaths answered, "You have to ask?"

"We can still stop this," she offered. "If this is too much, too soon, too . ."

"No," he growled. Reaching up, he slid his hand behind her neck and brought her lips to his. When she tried to pull away, he held her in place and whispered, "I've wanted this - you and me - even before I was old enough to explain it, Parker. You will never be too much for me. You will never be too anything for me."

The words were barely spoken when Jarod felt the woman shift and, a moment later, he was inside of her.

* * *

In the dim light of the dying fire, she slid from the bed. When a flash of lightening lit up the room, she found the sweatshirt he had discarded earlier and slipped it over her head, then turned and faced Jarod. Afraid that a soft kiss might wake him, she bit back the urge. Instead, she drew the quilt from the foot of the bed to his shoulders and smiled softly when the sleeping man burrowed deeper into the protection of the blanket.

Padding to the fireplace, she placed two more logs on the fire and stood in the warmth of the flames, listening to the icy pelts of rain hitting the house and wondering how long they'd been asleep. With her arms wrapped around her waist, she moved to the window and pulled at the heavy drapes, surprised to find that night had fallen.

"What's so fascinating out there?"

"Another storm," she answered, turning and smiling at him. "It appears we may be trapped."

Still laying across the bed, his body shielded by the quilt, Jarod replied, "What a shame."

"It is, isn't it?" she grinned playfully, "I mean, with Broots and Debbie in town, and your mother and Sydney at the hospital, we're here all alone."

Holding his hand out to her, he motioned for her to come back to bed. "I can think of one or two activities we can engage in, to pass the time."

"Only one or two? I thought you were supposed to be a genius."

"Blame it on lack of blood flow to the brain," he answered.

When she pushed his legs to the side and sat on the edge of the bed, he pulled himself up only far enough to kiss her gently on the lips. She saw him wince in pain but, before she could question him, Jarod slid his hand into hers and dropped back to the pillow. He let out a soft sigh and, unexpectedly, his stoic expression turned earnest.

"You're beautiful, you know that?"

Suddenly self-conscious, she ran her free hand through her hair. "You need to have your eyes checked. Even in this light, you should be able to see that my hair is matted, my makeup is smeared . ."

"I'm serious, Parker," he said, squeezing her hand when she tried to pull away. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known."

She smiled and shook her head, softly caressing the side of his face. "And you're sweet."

"Sweet?" he repeated. Turning his head, he kissed the tips of her fingers as they moved across the bruise on his jaw. "After the things we did tonight, the only adjective you can think of, is _**sweet**_?"

"What did you expect?" she purred, "You just laid there. I did most of the work."

"Is that so?" he smirked.

She laughed, letting him pull her back to the bed but, when he let out an involuntary moan, she quickly escaped from his arms. His breath caught in his throat and the muscle in his jaw tightened as Jarod drew his arm across his ribs. Taking deep breaths, Jarod slowly dropped back to the pillows and, though his eyes were trained on a point on the ceiling only he could see, she saw the pain spread across his face.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, when she began to slowly stroke his hair.

"Me, too."

Lifting the quilt, Miss Parker slid her legs beneath it and drew her body against his.

Still wearing his sweatshirt, she gently laid her arm over his belly and rested her head against his shoulder. His lips pressed lightly against her forehead and, without another word, Jarod closed his eyes.

* * *

When he woke, he found the space beside him was empty and it took a moment for him to remember why that bothered him so much. Scratching at the light beard that had developed in his sleep, Jarod pulled himself to a sitting position and looked around the room. The fire place was still active, the drapes were still drawn and the quilt was still draped over his body.

Miss Parker and the clothes that had been strewn across the floor, however, were gone. Curious, Jarod wrapped the quilt around his waist and moved from the bed. Just as he was about to reach for the door, however, it opened and Miss Parker entered. Fully dressed, she held a small stack of clothes in her arms.

"What are you doing up?" she asked, unfazed by his sudden presence.

"I could ask you the same question. What time is it?"

"Early,"she answered. Hooking her arm around his, she lead him to the bed.

He frowned. "Early morning or early afternoon?"

"Morning. A little after seven, to be exact," she smiled. Pulling his sweatshirt and pants from the clean pile of clothes she held, she laid them on the bed. "Here, put these on. Broots called, the roads and bridge are closed, so he and Debbie stayed at a motel in town. They probably won't be here until late this afternoon with the supplies. We're going to have to make do with what we've got until they get back."

"You washed clothes? How long have you been up?" he asked, suppressing a yawn. He had no idea what time he had fallen asleep in her arms but, suddenly, that bit of information seemed important.

"Not long. It's not like I had to drag them to the river and pound them with a rock. The machine does all the work," she replied, shooting him a quick grin. "Now, put these things on and get back into bed. You need to rest. I'll put another log on the fire and, if you aren't going to go right back to sleep, I'll get you something to eat."

"Thanks," he snapped, suddenly pulling from her grasp, "but I have a mother. I don't need another one."

"Now, was that _**really**_ necessary?" she growled, folding her arms across her chest.

"Apparently. Tell me what's happened between last night and now. Why are you acting like I'm going to break into a million pieces?"

"Nothing happened _between_ last night and now," she snapped, moving to the fireplace. "It happened last night. Or don't you remember how much pain you were in?"

Watching her move away, he sighed and shook his head. "Parker, it was nothing," he promised softly, "I overdid it a little. It was a twinge of discomfort, that's all."

"Jarod, I'm not stupid. I know you well enough to know that you have a high threshold of pain. If I saw you react to it, it was unbearable," she argued, facing him. "Tell me, how many_ twinges of discomfort_ did you actually have last night? How many times did you let me hurt you?"

"None," he snapped. Sitting on the bed, Jarod slowly pulled the sweatshirt over his head, then glared at her. "And, for the record, you're being ridiculous."

"And you're either a liar or a fool," she muttered, heading for the door. "Now, finish getting dressed and get into bed. I'll be back in a few minutes with some breakfast."

"I said I didn't want any."

"Tough," she spat. "I honestly don't care what you want anymore. In case you've forgotten, we're not on some romantic retreat here. Alex and Cox are after us and, when your mother and Sydney retrieve the scrolls, chances are we're going to have Lyle and an entire sweeper team to deal with, as well. Not including Emma, and the danger we're putting her in, there are four other adults and one teenager in this mess with you, Jarod. The last thing any of us need is for you to seriously hurt yourself because you're too damned stubborn to accept help and let the injuries you have heal."

He raised an eyebrow and stared at her. "How long have you been practicing that speech?"

"Too long," she snapped, stepping into the hall. "And, if you don't cooperate, so help me, Jarod, I'll make you regret it."

* * *

He dressed and followed her into the kitchen. Her back was to him and, though he knew she was aware of his presence, she focused on a pan of something she had on the stove. Steeling himself for a possible outburst, Jarod moved behind her and, when she remained still, he slipped his arms around her waist.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Nodding, Miss Parker poked at the pancake sizzling in front of her, but said nothing.

"I promise, you did not hurt me, last night," he continued, kissing the back of her neck.

She flipped the cake and pressed down on it with the spatula, but still said nothing.

"I know what we're up against," he continued, tightening his grip and pulling her body against his. "If I thought my physical condition might put someone in danger, I would be the first to admit it. I know my body. I know my capabilities."

She pushed back at him with her elbow, easily moved from his hold and reached for an empty plate at the edge of the counter. But, still, Miss Parker remained silent and Jarod was beginning to get concerned.

"Parker, look at me," he urged. "I want you to see, for yourself, that I mean what I'm saying."

She shook her head. "I don't need to look at you. I know you're sincere."

The dull tone of her voice made him hesitate but, when she filled a glass with orange juice and turned toward the table without a glance in his direction, he asked, "Are we all right?"

"Do you want bacon or potatoes with the pancakes?" she asked, moving to the refrigerator.

Unable to control himself, Jarod took her arm and turned him to face her. She was punishing him for something he believed was minor, she was refusing to trust him when he said he was all right and, worse, she was ignoring his apology. When he looked into her eyes, though, Jarod loosened his grip and took a step back.

"You've been crying."

"You're getting bacon. I don't feel like making hash browns anymore."

"Parker, look at me," he demanded. Reaching around her, he turned off the flames on the burners and moved between her and the stove. "Tell me why you're so upset."

"Why am I upset?" she hissed, finally glaring up at him. "Do you have any idea what happened last night? I let myself do things I haven't done since . . ."

"Thomas," he finished, sadly.

"No, dammit," she hissed, angrily slapping his chest. "And, don't you ever bring him up again."

Sheepishly, Jarod nodded, watching her mutely as Miss Parker moved away from him.

"I'm not talking about sex," she said, in a softer tone. "I'm trying to tell you that, last night, I let myself believe that we were about more than that, more than the physical act. I admitted to myself that I ... care ... about you."

Facing him, she hugged herself and said, "I admitted that I might possibly love you, dammit. The last time I admitted to loving anyone was my mother."

"Parker . ."

"No," she held up her arms and stepped away before he could pull her close. She did not want to have his arms around her. She did not want to breathe in his scent. She did not want to hear him whisper another apology.

"Parker, you don't understand," he murmured, "I felt the same way. Last night, for the first time, I realized how important you really are to me. I love . ."

"Don't say it," she warned, her eyes narrowing. "I don't want to hear it because I won't believe you."

"What?"

"You're doing the same thing my mother did," she continued, pacing the length of the room. "You're telling me one thing and doing the exact opposite. She told me she loved me. She told me we were going to Europe. She told me I would fall in love the way she fell in love with my father and that she would be there."

For the first time in a long time, Jarod did not know what to say to Miss Parker. He had no idea how to comfort her because, for the first time, he knew she was honestly upset with him.

She stopped pacing and stared at him on the other side of the table. Her eyes were red, but anger was etched into her face and her hands were balled into fists.

"My mother left me," she continued. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, but Miss Parker managed to keep her words loud enough for him to hear. "She made a conscious decision to let me believe she'd been killed. She made a conscious decision to let me be raised by your family. She made a conscious decision to keep the identity of my real father a secret. She made a conscious decision to lie to me, over and over, Jarod. Now, you're doing the same damned thing."

"Parker, your mother believed she was doing what was right for you," he promised, taking a few small steps in her direction. "You were a child. She could not burden you with the kinds of things she was trying to deal with."

"I know," she nodded softly. "But do you have any idea how many times I have mourned my mother? Do you have any idea how many times I've grieved for a woman who claimed she loved me and, yet, did nothing but lie?"

"I'm sorry." He knew it sounded hollow but, it was the only thing he could think to say. "I'm sure, if your mother had understood how your actions would have affected you, she would have thought of something else."

"If you believe that, then, why aren't you?" she dared. "You're doing the same thing she did, Jarod. The only difference is that I am no longer a child."

He shook his head and took a step back. "Parker, I have never . ."

"You did it last night. You've done it for as long as I've know you," she interrupted. "Jarod, I know you think your way is better, I know you were raised to make decisions as an impartial outsider, but you're not. Everything that happens to you, happens to everyone who loves you. Sydney, your mother, even Broots - in his way - cares about what happens to you."

"And, what about you?"

She shook her head. "I can't. If you're going to continue keeping secrets, insisting that your way is the only way, claiming you're fine when it's obvious that you're not - then you and I do not have a chance."

Releasing a heavy sigh, Jarod pulled at one of the chairs and sat down. He rubbed his forehead and watched Miss Parker until she moved behind him. A few moments later, he heard the burners ignite and knew she had gone back to making breakfast. When she slid a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of him, Jarod looked up at her.

"When I was a boy," he started, "I was never allowed to ask for help. If I got overwhelmed, Sydney allowed me a refuge - a break - from whatever task I was performing but, hours, days, sometimes months later, I was always brought back to finish what I started. Raines, on the other hand . . ."

"I know," she whispered, taking his hand when his words faded. Shesat beside him and continued in a soft, but determined voice, "You're not a boy anymore, Jarod,and you're not in the Centre. No one is going to punish you for admitting that you need help."

"What if I can't?" he asked, squeezing her hand. "What if I try and . ."

"Have you ever failed at something you tried?"

"There's always a first time," he said, returning her smile. Then, after a short, thick silence, Jarod took a deep breath and said, "I can't promise anything, Parker, except that I will try. For you."

Running her hand across his stubbled face, she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the lips.

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	19. part 19

Note: I know it's been a long time between posts. Sorry for the delay but, RL interfered again (I hate when it does that!) Anyway, thanks for your patience and, of course, theemails asking for another post. Hope it was worth the wait.

Disclaimer in Part 1

Guilty

Part 19?

He looked at his watch, glared at the driver but kept his comments to himself. Due to the weather, the plane from San Francisco had not only been late in leaving California but, also, late in arriving in Minnesota. In addition, the car ride he had been told would be no more than two hours was entering its third.

"How much farther?" he demanded.

The driver made brief eye contact via the rear view mirror, then looked back at the road. "Another thirty minutes, give or take."

"Give or take what? Divine intervention?"

The man shrugged his response.

Looking back at his watch, he released a heavy sigh and leaned back in the seat, urging himself to relax. Despite the wild goose chase on the West Coast, he was, once again, on the right trail. Soon, he would soon have the key.

* * *

About an hour after the breakfast dishes were washed and put away, Jarod began roaming the large house, moving slowly from room to room. Intermittently, he checked the telephones for dial tone or his laptop for a satellite connection. Each attempt, however, resulted in disappointment, causing Jarod to sigh heavily and disappear into another room.

She watched him, silently noting that, when he finally arrived at the threshold to his mother's room, Jarod did not enter. Leaning heavily against the door, he slid into a crouching position and dropped his head to his hands.

Deep in thought, he did not seem to notice Miss Parker's presence until her hand fell gently onto his shoulder. Without a word, the Pretender pulled himself to his full height, shot a quick glance at the closed door, then crossed to the large window in the living room. His arms were crossed in front of him and, though he was facing a breathtaking view, Miss Parker was convinced that his eyes were closed.

"Would you like me to search her room?"

He flinched at the sound of her voice then slowly gazed at her over his shoulder. "Why would you ask me something like that?"

She shrugged and moved to his side. "Aren't you curious? Don't you want to know if she left anything behind?"

Turning back to the view, he hesitated slightly but answered, "No."

She considered calling him a liar, but settled for admitting, "Well, I am."

"Stay out of her room, Parker," he warned. Dropping his arms, he pivoted in place and faced her, "I mean it."

His sudden, deep voice surprised her but Miss Parker held the man's stare. When she spoke, she took on a daring, taunting tone of her own. "What are you afraid I will find?"

"I just don't want her privacy invaded," he snapped. Then, looking away, he added softly, "Besides, my mother is gone and so are her belongings."

"Amazing. Your conscience won't allow you to enter the room of a woman you've known less than a week but invading Sydney's privacy, or Broots', by searching their rooms, is acceptable?"

"I did not search their rooms," he replied tightly.

"Really. Then, tell me, Jarod, what were you doing?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" she repeated skeptically.

"That's what I said. Now, leave it alone, Parker."

She watched him fold his arms tightly across his chest and his eyes glaze over as he lifted them to the window. Though she had heard a hint of sadness and longing in his voice, when he spoke about his mother's departure, Jarod's body language had told her a different story. The muscles in his jaw were tight and his shoulders were pulled back, defiantly.

Finding his mother had been Jarod's number one goal for so long that, when he finally tracked her down, Jarod had been willing to do anything to keep her happy. She abandoned him after the accident, and he forgave her. She kept secrets, refusing to answer questions about her presence on Carthis until she had no choice, and he made excuses for her. And, now, though Miss Parker had told him otherwise, Jarod was convinced that his mother was going to abandon him again, once she had the scrolls. He was trying desperately to believe that Margaret was doing what she felt was best for both of them.

Whether Jarod was ready to admit it, or not, he was at odds with himself.

"It's been a long week, hasn't it?" she asked, softly.

Jarod nodded.

After another moment of silence, Miss Parker slipped her hand under his arm and gently released the hold he had on himself. When Jarod faced her, she waited until his hand wrap around hers and a small, shy smile graced his lips before she pulled him from the window. Though he followed her for a few steps, the Pretender suddenly resisted her tow and brought them both to a halt in the middle of the room.

"Let's get some fresh air," she said, answering his unspoken question. "Maybe, by the time we get back, the phone lines will be up and you can do whatever it is you have been dying to do on Broots' computer."

"And, if they aren't?"

"Then, at least we will have spent some time together without thinking about the scrolls, the Centre, or your mother," she answered. Leaving him where he was, she crossed to the closet and opened the door. "Who knows? A walk might even tire you out enough to take a nap. I'd say you could use one."

"I do not need a nap," he snapped, folding his arms defiantly.

Staring at him, she shook her head and pointed at his posture. "Face it, Jarod, you're as cranky as a two-year old."

"So, that's what it's come to?" Catching the heavy jacket she tossed in his direction, Jarod moved to her side, holding the garment to his chest. "In less than twenty-four hours, you've gone from treating me like your lover to treating me like a child?"

"I'm just following your lead," she shrugged.

"Highly doubtful. I have never known you to follow anyone," he grumbled.

"There's a first time for everything."

Smiling at the frown that appeared on his face, Miss Parker closed the distance between them and brushed her lips against his. "Jarod, in a few hours, Broots and Debbie will be back. If we don't take this opportunity, we might not get the chance to be alone again, for a long time."

"Is that what this is all about? We can be alone, right here, you know."

"Been there, done that," she replied, stepping away. "The fresh air and exercise we get from a walk will put us both in better moods."

"What I have in mind will provide us with a great deal of exercise and put us in better moods, too," he murmured, sliding his left arm around her waist and pulling her back. "If you want, we can leave a window open for the fresh air."

She grinned and ran her hand across his lightly bearded face but, just as Jarod leaned down to kiss her, the woman turned her back on him. Sliding into her long coat she pulled open the door and announced, "There are boots in the closet that should fit you. I'll meet you outside."

* * *

"That's the house," he said, slowly pulling the van to the side of the road.

Alex scrutinized the structure from a distance and smiled. "Very scenic. Isolated. No neighbors."

"Not for a couple of miles, anyway."

"Are we sure they're in there?" he asked, facing the man in the driver's seat.

Nodding, Victor retrieved a set of binoculars from the glove compartment and handed them to his companion. He pointed toward the house as Miss Parker appeared on the porch.

They watched in silence, their car hidden by the row of bare trees that lined the road, until Jarod emerged from the house. Then, as the couple wrapped their arms around each other and started down the steps, Alex's smile broadened.

Without taking his eyes off his prey, the man motioned for Victor to move the vehicle further down the road and said, "This is good. This is very good."

* * *

"You're awfully quiet, all of a sudden," she said, looking up at him. "Are you all right? Do you want to head back?"

Jarod shook his head. "No, you were right about the walk. I'm feeling much better."

"Say that again."

"What? I'm feeling much better?"

"No, the other part. The part about me."

His confusion suddenly gone, Jarod pulled them to a stop.

"The part about you," he repeated, playfully.

"Yes. It isn't often that you admit someone else is right. I want to hear it again."

"I wanted to stay back at the house, and do unspeakable things to you," he countered. "We don't always get what we want."

"Maybe you don't, but I do," Miss Parker promised, adding over her shoulder, "At some point in the very near future, you will repeat those words. You will say I was right."

"Don't bet on it," he grinned, following her up a slight incline.

As they continued the walk, their conversations were varied and brief. They talked about the snow, the view, and the wildlife that kept their distance but, less than a half hour later, they were once again engulfed in silence.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked, when Jarod stopped to catch his breath.

"When did you become such a worrier?" he asked, finally pulling his eyes from the wooded area in front of them. "I would tell you if I wasnot feeling well."

"Right. Like you did last night?"

Sighing loudly, he glanced at the open, snow-covered field they had just crossed, then faced the woman again. "For the last time, you did not hurt me last night."

"Liar."

"Parker . ."

"Save it, Jarod. It's not important."

"But it**_ is_** important," he said, grabbing her arm as she turned away. With both hands on her shoulders, he leaned down so they were at eye level and continued in a soft, but determined voice, "Last night was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me. Being with you, holding you, loving you, was like something out of a dream and, no matter how hard you try to make me think otherwise, it was perfect. Do you understand me? There is not one second of last night that I would change because I was with you. You did not hurt me. You could never hurt me."

She stared at him for almost a full minute before, slowly, Miss Parker began to shake her head and back away. He had meant for his words to comfort her, instead they released the fears she had been trying so desperately to suppress.

When she found him at the hospital, she convinced herself that he was still the Pretender and she was still his huntress. The only thing that had changed was that they needed each other, for the first time since they were children. She needed him to help her sift through all the lies of her past and he needed her to help keep him out of the Centre long enough to discover the life he had been meant to have.

With the exception of Thomas, most of her adult relationships had been fleeting and based more on convenience than passion. When she and Jarod became intimate, she told herself they were still free of emotional ties. She told herself that she could relegate Jarod's name to the list of men that had been nothing more than one-night stands, without a problem. It would be easier than having him join Thomas on the list of people she cared about.

In the past five minutes, she realized she had failed. After a few steps, as his expression warned her of questions that were imminent, she turned her back on him.

"This was a mistake," she whispered, following the trail they had already made with her eyes.

"Parker, what are you talking about?"

"This," she said, motioning between them as she turned to face him. "Us. It was a mistake. If I had kept to the original plan . ."

Suddenly, Miss Parker was quiet. Her eyes found his and, as Jarod's face darkened. Her heart began beating faster.

"What plan?" he asked.

Closing her eyes, she dropped her head and hugged herself. "My plan. The plan I had when I left San Diego two weeks ago."

"San Diego."

She nodded.

"I was in San Diego last week. I was in San Diego when I got the tip that led me to my mother."

"I know."

A sharp wind blew and, as he watched her hair tangle in front of her face, Jarod realized he was cold. Curling his hands into fists, he shoved them inside the jacket's pockets, and, without taking a step, shifted away from her.

"You never told me how you found me at the hospital, or why you helped me get my mother away from Alex and Cox. Tell me now."

She paced a few steps, with her head down, her fingers pressed against the bridge of her nose. There was no mistaking the feel of the weight of his eyes as she moved, and there was no mistaking the cold, heavy feeling of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She was at a loss, unsure of how he was going to react when she finally confessed that she was responsible for everything that had happened in the past week.

Finally, Miss Parker stopped her pacing and, standing directly in front of the man, looked into his dark eyes. While she searched, he was doing the same. The dark orbs flicked from side to side, never breaking her gaze and providing her with a glimpse of his of his confusion, as well as a hint of his frustration. Jarod was struggling to keep quiet, to give her a chance to explain. And, though she told herself they were caused by the cold, all Miss Parker could concentrate on were the tears that were teetering at the edge of his lids.

"Maybe we should go back," she whispered, dropping her eyes. "It's cold out here and . . . "

"No. Tell me **now**, Parker."

Glancing back at him, she waited a heartbeat before nodding and taking a deep breath.

"About a month ago, as a part of his normal duties, Broots accessed the Centre mainframe and stumbled upon several references to your mother. He showed me what he had found and, though he could not track the data back to any one person, he did discover that, whoever it was, was filing the information from a remote site."

"References? What kind of references?"

She shrugged. "The usual. Places, dates, times she'd been sighted in the last six years - including Carthis, her appearance, who she interacted with, what she did. Things like that."

"Six years," he repeated softly. "They've had my mother under surveillance for six years. I don't know why I'm surprised."

"That was all they seemed to be doing. She'd been in Minnesota for almost a month when I read the report. Based on what was written, it seems that whoever was watching her thought she would be moving again in the next couple of weeks. They even speculated about where she was headed."

"And where was that?"

"San Diego."

"She was looking for me?" he asked, as the brunette turned away. "Are you telling me that my mother had tracked me down in San Diego? Why wouldn't she have told me?"

Keeping her back to him, Miss Parker shook her head. "I don't think that it was part of her plan to find you."

He stiffened at the words, then relaxed as he realized they made sense. From the moment he found his mother, she had been telling him he'd made a mistake.

"So, it was coincidence?"

"Possibly."

"But you don't believe in coincidence."

"Neither do you," she smiled, facing him again. "If the Centre knew where your mother was, and where she was headed, why were they leaving her alone? It was obvious you had no idea where she was, so the idea of them watching her, on the off chance they could catch you, was so farfetched it was almost absurd.

I had Broots dig deeper into the mainframe and archives, hoping for something that would make everything make sense, and then I booked a commercial flight to San Diego. I hoped that, by being there when she arrived, I might be able to piece together what was really happening between her and the Centre."

"What did you find?"

"You."

Jarod's eyes widened and, instinctively, he took a step back.

"I saw you on the street, entering a bar in the Gaslamp District."

"I was working there as a bartender. It was part of my pretend," he explained, slowly. "You knew where I was, yet you didn't notify the Centre. Why?"

Taking another deep breath, Miss Parker hugged herself and glanced at the house they shared, on the other end of the open field. When she turned back, Jarod was standing directly in front of her, his gaze demanding an answer.

"I remembered how you reacted on Carthis, when you found out your mother was so close. I remembered what you told me in the limo - that I could change the ending to our story," she said.

Her voice was almost a whisper, but Jarod heard every word. He drank in her body language, the soft features of her face, and the way she held his gaze with an insecure confidence he rarely saw in her. For an instant, she allowed him to see the woman he knew she was - a woman very different from the Ice Queen persona she had developed over the years.

"I followed you to your apartment," she continued, "and spent the rest of the day, debating about how to tell you your mother was on her way. It was almost noon when I remembered the website."

"You knew about the website I designed to help find my mother?"

She laughed and gently stroked his cheek. "Of course I did. Believe it or not, Jarod, I was very good at my job at the Centre."

"If you were so good," he countered, in an equally playful tone, "why is it you never caught me?"

She hesitated, her smile fading as her hand slipped from his face, and softly replied, "I guess my heart wasn't in it."

Her sincerity made him falter and, after swallowing hard, he asked, "So you were the one who posted the clue that led me to my mother? You started the sequence of events that led us to this moment? You must have known that the Centre would, eventually, figure out what you did."

Taking a step back, Miss Parker nodded and dropped her eyes briefly. "I thought it was time you and I had control of our own destinies."

Reaching out, as she started to move away, Jarod brought the woman to him and slid one arm around her waist. Holding Miss Parker gently in place, he moved his free hand behind her neck and leaned forward, covering her mouth with his. When her hands slid under his jacket and began crawling up his back, Jarod brought his mouth to her ear.

"You were right," he breathed.

* * *

Half a mile from the house, they found a clearing about thirty yards from the road and stowed the van. The hike back, through the trees, was made difficult by the high snow drifts but they were in good physical condition and, made the trek back to the house in less than fifteen minutes.

They watched the house through binoculars, from a hiding place among the trees at the back of the property. Satisfied that they saw no movement, the two men quickly crossed to a low window and expertly let themselves inside.

"Now what?" Victor asked, as he jumped from the window well into the basement.

Alex moved to the stairs and looked up at the closed door. "We check each room for anything useful and we wait."

* * *

Emma shot a quick glance in each direction before crossing the hall and entering the hospital room unannounced. Startled, the woman looked at her, then turned her eyes back toward the window when the man rose from his chair and met Emma in the middle of the room.

"I am afraid she is not feeling up to any visitors," he whispered. "We hoped the police would have come to talk to her before now. But, with the storm . . "

"Someone is here, Sydney. That's what I came in to tell you."

Sydney cocked his head to one side. "If the police are here, why do you look so worried?"

"I don't think he's with the police," she admitted. "Theguy isn't asking about Margaret. He's asking about Jarod."

"Jarod?"

Emma nodded.

"If you have any information about my son, I would prefer that you did not ignore the fact that I am in the room."

Taking a deep breath, Emma looked away from Sydney and faced the woman. Pushing herself to a sitting position, Margaret stared at the nurse with such intensity that, for a moment, the younger woman considered fleeing. From the moment Jarod's mother had been admitted, under false pretenses, the woman had been demanding, obstinate and, worse of all, oblivious to the fact that she was not the only person with something at risk.

"Well?" Margaret snapped.

While Sydney crossed to the door, Emma moved closer to the bed. "I don't have any information about Jarod," she answered, "except that all roads to the ridge were closed late last night."

"How would you know that?" she demanded, glancing over the nurse's shoulder to where Sydney was standing.

"It was on the radio."

"So my son is trapped in the house with that woman."

"I'm sure he's fine."

The woman nodded and, for a moment, Emma thought she saw her features soften. When they hardened again, her brows knitting in confusion, Emma turned and followed Margaret's line of vision.

"Sydney, what's wrong?" Margaret asked, when the peered out a small opening in the door.

Letting the door close, he placed his finger over his lips and crossed to the edge of the bed. With a quick glance at the door, he whispered for Jarod's mother to keep her voice down.

"Emma, those men are not with the police," he said, facing her, "How long have they been here?"

"About twenty minutes ago," she answered. "One of them mentioned being on the road all night."

The psychiatrist nodded thoughtfully and looked at the closed door. "It is important that they not find out we are here."

"Of course."

Grabbing Sydney's arm, Margaret forced the man to look at her and, in a harsh whisper, demanded, "What men? Who did you see?"

"There are three men on the floor, asking about Jarod," he said, calmly patting her hand. "They are Centre employees."

Margaret's eyes widened at the words. "Are Alex and Cox among them?"

"No. The man asking the questions goes by the name of Mr. Lyle."

"You said there were three men."

"The other two are Sweepers."

While Margaret digested the information he gave her, Sydney reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and small notepad. After scribbling something on the top sheet, he tore it away from the pad and handed it to Emma.

"This is the number to Broots' cell phone. He and Debbie spent the night at a motel in town because of the road closures. I want you to find a safe place, somewhere no one will overhear you, and call him. Tell him about Lyle and tell him to get back to the safe house as quickly as possible."

"What about the two of you?" she asked, "What do I tell him when he asks about you?"

"Tell him that we are fine. Lyle is looking for Jarod. He has no reason to believe we are in the building." Then, looking at Margaret, he said, "Once he is gone, we will leave."

The woman started to nod in agreement, then stopped abruptly and turned her piercing eyes on the psychiatrist. "What about my case? The scrolls?"

He shook his head. "It is no longer safe to go through with the plan.."

"But . ."

"Jarod would never forgive me if I let something happen to you."

"You don't understand. The scrolls must remain out of Centre control. Jarod's life . . ."

"I do understand," he interrupted. Rising from the bed, he glared down at the woman and, in a low but controlled voice, told her, "Jarod, and his welfare, have been my primary concern for a very long time."

"Your primary concern," she repeated slowly. "What, exactly, does that mean? Are you saying that you _care more_ about my son than I do?"

"It means that I _know more_ about your son, than you do," he replied. Then, seeing the woman stiffen, Sydney softened his voice and added, "Trust me, Margaret. Right now, Jarod' well being hinges on yours."

As she watched the man walk way, Margaret released a soft breath and leaned against the pillows. Despite her initial mistrust of the psychiatrist, and his colleagues, she was relieved by his determination to protect her son.

Whether he realized it or not, Sydney, had helped her make the hardest decision of her life.

TBC

feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: I want to thank all of you for all the great feedback. I'm sorry it took so long to get a new chapter out. Between RL and my muse insisting on starting "One Step Back", I did not spend much time on this story until this week. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty  
by imagine

part 20

When she pushed him away and started back in the direction they had come, Jarod was dumbfounded. He watched her trudge through the snow, seemingly making a point of not walking in the tracks they'd already made. Her hands were pushed tightly into the pockets of her jacket and her shoulders were hunched forward to battle the wind but, as always, Miss Parker's head was held high.

As she reached the edge of the woods, and was about to step out of the covering of trees, he hurried to her side and pulled the woman back. Before he could question her about her actions, however, she glared at him and demanded, "Why did you have to do that?"

Stunned, he loosened his grip and the woman easily slid from his hold. "Why did I do what? Kiss you?"

He stayed where he was, becoming more bewildered as she turned and stomped away from him again.

"Exactly," she growled, swung around and started back toward him. "I told you that I was responsible for everything that has happened, including the fact that you almost died, and how do you respond? You kiss me. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"You told me you wanted to give us control over our destinies," he corrected, "and I kissed you because I think I'm falling in love . . ."

"Don't say it," she warned. Picking up the downed limb of a nearby tree, she waved the thick stick at the confused man. "I swear, if you say it, I will hit you so hard, the boy will feel it in Vancouver."

He hesitated, letting the words hang between them a moment, then shook his head. "Parker, I don't understand. Why won't you let me say what I thought was obvious?"

"Because it never should have happened," she said simply. Refusing to meet his gaze, she continued, though her voice wavered, "If I had kept the information about your mother to myself, we wouldn't be standing here, right now. We _shouldn'_t be here."

"Other than the fact that my feelings for you started when we were children, not in the last week," he answered, "You don't believe really believe that everything that's happened has been a mistake. Do you?"

Refusing to acknowledge the tears of frustration that had filled her eyes and were now trailing down her cheek, Miss Parker replied in a strong voice, "I never say anything I don't believe."

"What about the things you said a few hours ago?" he pressed, keeping a soft voice. "Last night, when you and I were together, you told me things I have waited my whole life to hear. You told me things I could have convinced myself were part of a dream, if you hadn't repeated them this morning."

"I never repeated anything I said last night," she argued.

"My mistake," he smiled. "I must have dreamed it this morning, reliving it because it was such a beautiful experience the first time."

She hesitated and averted her eyes. He had easily manipulated her into admitting the confessions she'd made the night before and, though she feigned anger, there was a big part of her that was happy he had done so. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was for him to sense her inner conflict.

"I was caught up in the moment," she finally said.

"So your words meant nothing?"

Using both hands, she wiped her face and took a deep, shuddered breath. Though the sharpness of the air made her chest hurt, she held the breath until it warmed then released it quickly and glared at him.

"If you didn't mean what you said, tell me now. Look me in the eye and take back every word, every promise you made last night." When she started to move away, he called after her, but did not move from his spot. "You can't say it because you feel the same way toward me that I do toward you."

"Don't do that," she commanded, in a rough voice. Spinning toward him, she pointed the stick at Jarod and took a determined step in his direction. "Don't you dare stand there and tell me how to feel. Don't you dare shoot me one of those puppy dog looks and think it's going to change the fact that we're here because of a potentially lethal lapse in judgement on my part."

"Will you please stop saying that? Nothing you have done was a mistake," he replied. Closing the distance between them, Jarod calmly wrapped his hand around her weapon and tossed it to the ground. "Before now, neither of us was getting anywhere with our lives. We were going in circles, Parker, and you forced us to move forward. You did what you were meant to do."

"What I was meant to do. So, now you believe in Fate?" she laughed. Her eyes were filled with tears and the smile she forced held a bitter edge. "You don't believe in coincidence, but you believe in Fate."

"Not the way you think. I don't believe that there is some unseen force that is in control of our lives. The only way a life can change is if someone has the courage to make it change. You did that, Parker. You changed our lives, for the better."

Miss Parker hesitated then shook her head.

"And it frightens you," he sighed.

"You're damn right I'm frightened. I have never been so frightened in my life!"

"The fear of the unknown can be very powerful and . . ."

"It's not the fear of the unknown, Genius," she interrupted, angrily, "it's the fear of death."

The words hung in the air for a second, then, slowly, Jarod slid his hand in hers. When she looked up at him, he brushed the hair from her face.

"No one is going to hurt you," he promised, softly. "I won't let them."

The sincerity of his words brought fresh tears to her eyes. Her free hand cupped his cheek and, without thinking, she brought his lips to hers. The kiss was as brief as it was soft and, when she pulled away, she replied quietly, "It's not my death I'm worried about, you idiot. It's yours."

In the moments that followed, they fell into a comfortable, but unsettling silence. Leaning heavily against a downed tree trunk, Jarod responded to the woman's fearful admission by sliding his arm around her shoulder and pulling her tightly against his body. When his lips pressed against her forehead, Miss Parker stopped struggling and closed her eyes, honoring his request for a few minutes of silent closeness.

They had been sniping at each other since early that morning and, she was tired. She was still scared but, for the moment, she felt safer than she had in days. Her head rested against his chest, just above his heart, and her hand firmly clasped his.

A sharp breeze penetrated the cocoon they had formed and, as Jarod shivered in response, Miss Parker drew back to study his face. Without hesitation, the Pretender gently increased his hold on her and murmured a soft, "Not yet."

Ignoring his protest, she searched his eyes, making silent note of the reddish glaze that had spread over them. Despite the dark beard that had started to form along his jaw, the color in his cheeks had faded and, for the first time, she realized his breaths had become shallow. There was no question, in her mind, that Jarod needed to be back at the cabin, in front of the fireplace, as soon as possible.

"The temperature is dropping," she told him. "It's time we headed back."

Jarod nodded. Though he wanted nothing more than to keep her in his arms, he knew the idea was not practical. The last hour was beginning to take a toll on his body, draining him physically and emotionally. If they didn't start back now, there was a good chance she would have to act as a crutch for him, and Jarod had no intention of letting that happen.

Waiting until he was on his feet, Miss Parker started through the woods, opting to ignore the trail they had already made, through the open field. The trees blocked the harsh wind, making the occasional high drift less demanding on Jarod's already strained muscles.

He walked beside her for several yards, saying nothing but moving closer to her with each step. His hand brushed against her arm then, without warning, slid around hand. Every half dozen steps, or so, he gently squeezed her fingers and, without comment, she returned the gesture immediately. Soon, they fell into such an easy rhythm that they barely realized they were controlling it.

When the cabin was visible through the trees, signaling their need to move out of the woods, Jarod pulled the woman to a stop. Pressing her against the trunk of a large evergreen, he ignored the questions in her eyes and, leaning forward, tenderly brushed his lips against hers. She responded in kind.

"From this point forward," he whispered, "I don't want you to be afraid for me and, on the off chance that something should happen to me, I don't want you to take the blame. For as long as I've known you, Parker, you've had my back. Even if you don't, I trust that you will always do the right thing, where I am concerned."

She opened her mouth to protest but Jarod laid a gloved finger over her lips.

"And I will always do the right thing, where you are concerned. Trusting that you will take care of me, gives me the freedom to take care of you."

Then, after capturing her lips once more, Jarod slid his arm around the woman and continued toward the cabin.

* * *

He looked at his watch but fought the urge to look out the window. They had been waiting for more than an hour and his patience was wearing thin. The man sitting at the foot of the stairs was leaning forward, with his elbows on his knees and his head resting heavily in the palm of his hand.

"Victor, wake up," he hissed, slapping the man's forearm out from under him. "If you are not alert when they arrive, you will be useless to me."

The sweeper nodded and struggled to suppress the yawn he knew would add to his employer's annoyance. Pushing himself to his feet, he murmured an apology and crossed to the cold fireplace. He was bored with waiting. It had been an extremely long day and, the longer he sat around doing nothing, the more his eagerness to exact revenge on Jarod and Miss Parker was beginning to wane. If the two did not reappear soon, he was afraid he might not have the edge he needed to punish them for making him, repeatedly, look like a fool.

He turned back toward the other man in time to see him disappear into the bedroom they'd decided belonged to Jarod. Since arriving at the house, they had been in every room and found nothing Victor felt was worthy of a second glance. Alex, however, had a completely different opinion.

Like Miss Parker's room, on the second floor, they'd already rifled through Jarod's room three times, as a team, and a room Alex had examined it alone, twice. In addition, the room across from Jarod's had been searched a total of four times.

The items in the three bedrooms, it seemed, held a special interest for the man. And, the longer they waited for Jarod and Miss Parker to return, the more Alex moved between the chambers. An hour ago, Victor would have followed the man and offered his assistance in another search. Now, he just stared at the open door and frowned.

"Did you find something?" he asked, when the man returned to the living room.

Alex shook his head. "Nothing new."

"But you found _something_," he surmised. "Earlier, you found something you think will be useful, didn't you?"

When the ex-pretender smiled to himself and turned away, Victor took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If he were a different person, he mused, he might actually feel sorry for Jarod.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

She nodded and filled the mug in front of him with hot water. "For the last time, Sydney, I wouldn't have suggested it, if I wasn't sure."

"You took a big enough risk contacting Broots and then distracting Lyle so we could escape," he continued. "If we are found here, you and your husband in a great deal of danger."

Handing him a box of fruit-flavored tea bags, she straightened and stared at the psychiatrist. She found it interesting that, though he sounded sincere, the man was taking a very calm approach to arguing with her.

"Mike and I are not worried," she promised. "Now, will you please relax?"

"But . . ."

"Oh, for heaven's sake," the older woman hissed, sitting back in the chair. "Emma and her husband have made a generous offer, one that has advantages we cannot overlook. If you don't want their help, then say so and leave. Just stop the waffling, already."

The man glared at the woman, his back stiffening as his hands tightening around the warm mug. Unimpressed, she held the gaze with one that was equally as hard, until the nurse stepped between them and added more coffee to Margaret's mug.

"Listen to me," she said as Sydney's eyes flicked in her direction, "I couldn't let you just leave the hospital, knowing that Lyle and his men were still in the vicinity. The cabin is too far away. There was too much of a risk that they might see you."

"And too much of a risk that we could lead them to Jarod," Margaret added.

"I would not have . . ."

"She's right," Emma interrupted, taking her seat across from him. "You told me you came back because you had to retrieve Margaret's case, in order to protect Jarod. At this point, there is no reason to let Lyle and his men scare you away from doing just that. Mike is on the phone, trying to convince a friend of his at the Police Department to bring the case to our house."

"If Lyle, or one of his men, had followed us, we would have known by now," the other woman said. "I see no reason we can't spend one night here."

"What if Lyle figures out where we are, in the meantime?" he dared. Shaking his head, the psychiatrist stood and crossed to the kitchen door before facing the women again. "I don't believe Jarod would want us to jeopardize the safety of Emma, or her husband."

Margaret opened her mouth to speak but Emma held up her hand, effectively silencing the woman. Moving from the chair, she stepped in front of the man and took his hand.

"I appreciate your concern for us, Sydney, but Mike and I are perfectly capable of handling this situation. Besides, in the last few days, I've learned a lot about Jarod. He would not want the two of you taking unnecessary risks," she said, leading him back to the table."

He sighed and looked from Emma, to Margaret and back again, knowing he had no choice in the matter. Jarod would never forgive him if he returned to the cabin without his mother and Margaret had no intention of leaving, when the promise of retrieving the scrolls was so close.

"One night," he said, defeatedly. "We leave first thing in the morning."

* * *

"_He was having difficulty remembering things," she said. "His name, his age, how he came to be in the hospital, all of it was a mystery to him."_

"_But there were things he did remember?"_

"_Well, I don't know about that but his subconscious was working overtime because his nightmares were so horrible, we had to sedate him on a nightly basis. It was just a matter of time before he put the pieces together."_

_Lyle let the woman's words sink in, and nodded thoughtfully. "Did he ever tell you what the nightmares were about?"_

_She shook her head._

"_Where is he now?"_

"_Psychiatric wing," she said, looking down at her chart. "Fifth floor."_

_His spirits lifted so suddenly that Lyle had to suppress a smile. "He was put in the Psychiatric Wing because of some nightmares? A little extreme, don't you think?"_

_Sighing heavily, the woman slid the patient chart to the side and stared at the man. "If you must know, he became violent."_

"_Jarod became violent?" he repeated, incredulously. "I don't think that's possible."_

"_Well, trust me, it is. The doctors ordered an MRI for him, to see if the accident had caused any damage, and Jarod agreed. As soon as he saw the machine, however, he started struggling and saying he didn't want to die again."_

"_Is that so?"_

_She nodded. "It was the strangest reaction we've ever seen. He became so distraught that he broke the nose of an orderly. He kept yelling, alternating between calling for someone named Sydney to help him and shouting obscenities. It took almost twenty minutes, and a double dose of his normal sedative, to get him under control. That's when they transferred him." _

"Did you find her?" he demanded.

When both men shook their heads, he pivoted in place,Lyle's eyes roamed the halls for some sign of the woman who had led him on a wild goose chase.

"One of the other nurses said she left for home about thirty minutes ago," one of the men offered.

Lyle turned and glared at the man. "What's your name?"

Swallowing hard, the sweeper pulled himself to his full height. "Jeremy Potter, Sir."

"Well, Jeremy Potter," he spat, "Did you find out where 'home' was?"

The young man's eyes flicked from the Chairman's son to the nurse who had given him the information, and then back again. "Um, no, Sir. She wouldn't give it to me."

"Then find someone who will," he growled.

* * *

They had only just stepped out of the tree line when Jarod pulled her to a stop. Confused, she followed his line of vision, then looked back at the man.

"Jarod, what is it?"

"The snow," he said, keeping his voice low. When she shot him a questioning look, he nodded in the direction he was staring.

Once again, she faced the direction he had indicated and, before she could formulate a demand for an explanation, she saw the stream of tracks. The entire yard was a blanket of crisp, even and ice sheathed snow, except for a thin path of disturbed clumps and welts that ran from the woods to cabin.

"Could it be an animal?" she asked, her eyes darting from him to the house as he moved closer to the trail.

"Doubtful," he replied. Taking a step back, he grabbed her hand and pulled the woman into the safety of the trees. "Unless Bambi has started wearing a size twelve hiking boot, we've got uninvited guests."

"How many?"

"Two," he sighed, still staring at the back of the cabin.

"Jarod, look at this."

Turning, he crouched beside the woman and voiced soft sounds of agreement as she pointed out markings in the snow.

"They came from that direction," she said, indicating deeper into the woods. "They parked out there somewhere, so we wouldn't see them, and then hiked to the cabin."

Standing, Jarod nodded. "It makes sense."

"Which means that there is a car, or a truck, or something, at the end of this trail," she finished. "All we have to do is . . . "

Her words faded as Jarod began shaking his head. His gaze was not on her, nor was it on the cabin. He was staring over her shoulder at the trail of footprints that disappeared into the tree line. Suddenly, it felt as if a fist had formed in her gut. Rising to her feet, she moved to his side and wrapped her hand around his arm.

"What's wrong?"

"I can't make it that far, Parker," he admitted, finally drawing his attention from the snowy incline. "You need to go without me."

"Absolutely not. We will think of something else."

Sliding his hand over hers, as it squeezed his arm, Jarod forced a smile and turned so the woman was standing in front of him. "I will be all right."

"I know you will, because I'll be with you to see to it."

"No," he whispered. His fingers curled under her chin and, immediately, she brought her eyes to his. They sparkled with the same kind of fear he had seen earlier and Jarod hated that he was the cause. Using the firmest tone he could manage, told her, "You have to go. You have to warn the others. Broots and Debbie are probably more than half way here, by now. I don't want them walking into something like this."

The mention of the technician and his daughter made her hesitate. Her eyes shifted from his, to the road in the distance, and back again. Though he didn't see the fear subside at all, he did a spark of the Ice Queen persona that he hadn't realized he was beginning to miss.

"And, what will you do?" she asked.

Glancing over his shoulder, at the cabin, Jarod forced a smile. "I'll take care of our guests."

"Not a good idea. We have no idea who is in there," she said, shaking her head. "I can think of at least half a dozen possibilities, and none of them are comforting."

"We don't have a choice. I can't sit out here."

"No, you can't," she said softly, her eyes running across his face. "You need to be somewhere warm."

"I need to be inside. I'll be fine."

"Will you please stop saying that?" she hissed, lightly slapping his arm. "Just because you say it, doesn't make it true."

"It doesn't make it false, either," he grinned. When she responded with a deep scowl, he shook his head and smiled wider. "I love it that you're worried about me, but you have to stop. I've been in worse situations that this, Parker. I can take care of myself."

"How?" she demanded. "Give me one reason to believe that you can handle whoever is in there, waiting for you, and I'll go."

Sighing heavily, he looked back at the cabin a moment. She watched him, knowing that he was running simulation after simulation, hoping to create one that would appease her. In her mind, he was doing nothing more than thinking ahead, anticipating every possible scenario. But, she knew that was an over simplified definition. In order for any of outcomes to be accurate, Jarod had to also remove his emotions from the mix and that, in itself, was incomprehensible for her. Though she remained silent, her eyes never left his face and, the longer he took to face her, the more she found herself in complete awe of his ability.

Abruptly, Jarod's eyes met hers, glistening with a knowledge she could never understand.

"What is it? What's your great plan?" she asked, feigning annoyance.

"I'll go in the same way they did," he told her.

Her eyes darted to the window where the footprints disappeared. "You mean, you're going to break in and wait in the basement?"

When she looked back at him, he nodded. "From down there, I will be able to hear everything they're doing and saying."

"Assuming, of course, that they're not sitting down there waiting to do the same thing to us. How can you be so sure that they're in the main part of the house?"

Slipping his arm around her shoulder, he used his other hand to point to a window on the first floor. "That's my bedroom window," he told her.

"So?"

"It's closed."

"And?"

Stepping in front of her, Jarod bent his knees so they were at eye level. Gracing her with his trademark grin, he said, "The window was open, when we left and we've been gone for almost an hour and a half. Whoever is inside, can't build a fire because it would signal their presence."

"And they're getting cold."

"Exactly," he winked. Straightening up, he kept his arm around her and looked back at the house. "From the basement, I can keep track of their movements and, when the time is right . . ."

"Don't you dare finish that sentence," she snapped, hitting him in the chest. "The only way I am going to agree to this is if you promise that you're going to stay put. No heroics, Jarod, I mean it. You are in no shape to take on anyone, let alone two sweepers."

"We don't know they're sweepers."

"I mean it," she repeated, glaring at him. "Promise me. Promise me that you will not go looking for trouble. Promise me that you will let yourself inside find a hiding place, and stay put until they get tired of waiting and leave, or I get back with reinforcements."

"Parker . . ."

"Say it, Jarod, or so help me, neither of us is going anywhere."

After glancing at the cabin, once more,Jarod sighed heavily andturned his eyes on the woman in front of him. With a reluctant nod, he said,"I promise."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	21. Chapter 21

Disclaimer in part 1

A/N: I know it's been awhile. Sorry, but my muse really is fighting me on this story. I'll try to make the next chapter soon - and longer. Thanks.

Guilty  
by imagine

Part 21?

He let himself in through the window then turned to watch her silhouette as it moved along the snow-covered landscape and disappear into the trees. For a brief moment, Jarod thought he saw her turn and smile at him but, the distance was too great to be sure. It was a nice thought, though, and he decided to let himself believe it was true.

The shadows of the basement were long and covered much of the room. With a heavy sigh, Jarod surveyed the dank cellar with a critical eye. Boxes and blanket-covered furniture were placed haphazardly throughout the chamber, making the space appear much smaller than its actual square footage.

He spied an axe and a snow shovel, propped in the corner of the room but, rather than making a move toward them, he started in the opposite direction. Stepping around the carpet that had been discarded in a heap in the middle of the floor, he slowly crossed to the wooden stairs at the edge of the room. Unlike the upper floor, where the staircase split the house into two even sections, the basement stairs were tucked in the far corner. He did not recall seeing the door to the basement when he toured the house, but the positioning of the stairs convinced him that it must have been along the far wall of the dining room.

Placing his hand on the wooden railing, he stared up at the door and considered his next move. He was exhausted - physically, mentally and emotionally - from his walk with Parker and in no condition to take on whoever might be lurking upstairs. But, something was gnawing at him and, the longer he stared at the closed door, the more he had to fight the urge to confront the intruders. After everything that had happened, the thought that Broots and Debbie, or Sydney and his mother, might walk into the cabin, unaware of the danger, was unacceptable.

"_Promise me that you will not go looking for trouble. Promise me that you will let yourself inside, find a hiding place, and stay put until they get tired of waiting and leave, or I get back with reinforcements."_

Her words came back to him as soon as he placed his foot on the bottom step. Slowly pulling his eyes from the closed door, he turned his attention on the window he'd entered through and swallowed hard. The promise was only minutes old. If he intentionally broke his word, for no reason other than he wanted to be in control of the situation, she would never trust him again.

"Okay, Parker," he sighed, moving away from the staircase, "you win. I'll find a hiding place and stay put. For now."

* * *

It took her almost twenty minutes to make the trek up the sharp incline. When she saw the oversized van parked at the edge of the trees, however, her fatigue quickly faded. In less than half a dozen steps, she crossed to where it was parked and pulled on the door handle in vain.

Frustrated, Miss Parker stepped back and glared at the vehicle, quickly deciding that it was the same one that had been disguised as an ambulance to transport Jarod from the hospital to the Centre safe house. The fact that it was here meant that either Alex, or Cox, and a sweeper were lying in wait at the cabin. Her money was on Alex.

Turning to stare at the trail she had just conquered, Miss Parker took in a deep, cold breath and held it until her lungs ached. If she returned to the cabin, to protect Jarod, instead of warning the others, she was trading his well-being for theirs.

"_You have to go. You have to warn the others. Broots and Debbie are probably more than half way here, by now. I don't want them walking into something like this."_

Releasing the trapped air slowly, she shifted her attention back on the van. In a matter of minutes, she had the door unlocked and the engine hot-wired. Pushing the controls of the heater to the maximum setting, she began rummaging through the contents of the van. Unfortunately, by the time the vehicle was warm, she had uncovered very little of interest or use.

Under the front passenger seat she found a set of binoculars and a satellite phone with a low signal. Frowning, she let the binoculars fall back to the floor but slipped the phone into her jacket pocket, hoping that it would be of use when she was out of the trees. The glove compartment held nothing but maps of the immediate area and the vehicle registration. Shaking her head in disgust, she sat back in the seat and stared at the reflection in the rear view mirror.

The back windows were tinted so none of the interior was visible from the outside but the view from the driver's seat was a different story. Turning slightly, she rose and pushed herself between the two front seats, into the cargo area of the vehicle. A cold steel stretcher, complete with leather wrist and ankle straps, as well as a thin pillow and sheet, was to her right. Behind it was an oxygen tank, its tubing and mask draped over a nearby IV stand.

Sitting in the corner, to her left, under a stark white medical smock, was a bright red plastic box. Miss Parker crouched in front of the container and easily broke the lock, revealing syringes, bandages, medical tape and various other supplies used by the health care industry. At the bottom of the box, wrapped in a white towel, she found a jagged edged hunting knife. Sliding the weapon through the belt of her jeans, she rose and returned to the front of the vehicle.

Quickly settling herself in the seat, she maneuvered the van out of its parking space.

* * *

Despite his desire not to, Jarod dozed for minutes at a time. They were fitful naps, filled with images and fears he had spent years trying to erase but, as if in retaliation, they had intensified in recent weeks. When he shook himself awake, it was to the sounds of footsteps above him and to murmured voices. Though he was unable to make out the words that were being spoken, he heard their frustration and smiled. Sometimes, the little things in life made it worthwhile.

Sitting up, he wiped his eyes and looked around the dank room. Because he was never one for sound, peaceful sleeps, over the years, his body had learned to take advantage of any bits of rest he provided. His mind was beginning to sharpen and the muscles in his legs, though still sore, were no longer painful. If he had any complaint about the way his body was recuperating, it was that sitting in the damp basement was starting to cause his joints to stiffen. With a heavy sigh, he shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, telling himself he was getting old.

Pulling his jacket tighter as he crossed to the window, he glanced at the stairs then turned his attention at the view out the window. He had no idea how much time had passed since she left but, judging by the shadows on the snow, he doubted it had been more than an hour. Thoughts of Parker's whereabouts and safety invaded his quiet thoughts, immediately followed by a reminder that she could take care of herself.

Moments later, the sound of heavy footfalls and loud voices interrupted his thoughts. Jarod turned and hurried away from the window, as the door at the top of the stairs opened. Moving into the shadows, he spotted the axe and shovel in the corner but fought the urge to take either one as he crouched behind an old, sheet-covered bureau.

"They're on foot and the snow is almost knee-deep in many places so they could not have gotten far. I expect you to be able to find them, and bring them back, quickly. In fact, since it's apparent our presence is no longer a secret, bring the van around before you start your search. I want to make sure it's ready to transport him."

"Why can't I go out the front door?"

"Because this is the way we came in."

"That's not a reason."

"You need me to explain it to you? Fine," Alex hissed, turning on the sweeper. "There is more cover in the back, especially with night falling, so you won't be seen as readily as if you walked out the front door. Is that reason enough, or do I need to continue?"

Jarod heard the annoyance in Alex's clipped words but, evidently, the sweeper was not as astute. When the man spoke again, not bothering to change is challenging tone, the Pretender shook his head and frowned.

"I just don't know why we can't wait them out. I mean, they don't have a lot of options."

"Neither do we. It's been over two hours. The temperature is dropping and they have no shelter. If we have any hope of controlling his mother, we need Jarod alive and we need him now, before she retrieves the scrolls."

Jarod slid further into the shadows as Alex crossed the room. A few moments later, Victor followed, his eyes on the now open window. Though there was no more conversation, Jarod heard the Sweeper grunting and cursing as he pushed himself out of the window.

* * *

Once she traveled outside the tree line, Miss Parker stopped the van and picked up the satellite phone. The signal was definitely stronger. Her eyes darting up the road she had just descended, she quickly dialed Broots' cell phone and prayed the tech's phone was capable of receiving the call.

"Hello?"

"Broots, thank God," she sighed. "Where are you?"

"Miss Parker? Um, Debbie and I are about fifteen minutes from the safe house," he answered, immediately following up with, "Where are **_you_**?"

"Are Sydney and Margaret with you?" she asked, ignoring his question.

"No. They're still in town with Emma," he replied. Taking a deep breath, the tech glanced at his daughter and added, "Lyle showed up at the hospital, looking for Jarod. They had to leave in a hurry but they're safe, for now."

"How the hell did Lyle get mixed up in this?" she demanded wearily. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she added, "He was supposed to be in San Francisco."

"All I know is what Emma told me. She said Syndey wanted me to get Debbie back to the safe house as soon as possible."

"Well, I want you to turn around. It's not a safe house anymore," she sighed.

"What do you mean?"

"Alex found the house and is waiting inside with a sweeper. Call Sydney and warn him to stay away, too. I don't want anyone near that house until I give an all clear. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," the tech answered. "But, um, you're forgetting someone."

She shook her head. "No, Broots, I'm not. I'll take care of Jarod."

He smiled at her comment, wondering why she would have thought he'd think otherwise. "I know. I wasn't talking about Jarod."

It took a moment for the words to register and, when they did, Miss Parker's words held a sense of urgency. "I thought you told him to go to the hospital. He was supposed to be there to stop Margaret from disappearing."

"I did," the man insisted, "but when Sydney called me about Lyle, I left him a message to stay away. I didn't want him walking into a situation that could put him in danger. He might think I set him up or something and, well, he does have the boy and Emily with him."

"Are you telling me he's on his way to the safehouse?"

"No, I don't know where he is."

"Which is just as bad, if not worse," she groused. "If something happens to his father, Jarod will never forgive me."

"I could try to reach him again," Broots offered.

There was a long silence as Miss Parker considered her options. Then, just as Broots was about to ask if she was still on the line, the woman spoke. After listening carefully to her instructions, the man nodded and disconnected the call.

Seconds later, he and Debbie were headed back into town and Miss Parker was headed toward the safe house.

* * *

"Is everything all set?"

He looked up as the woman entered the room and smiled. "They'll be here around nine."

"With the case?"

"Of course," he sighed, slipping his arms around her. "Otherwise, what's the point?"

"Thank you," she grinned. "You are a miracle worker."

"I don't know about that but, I do have connections. Isn't that why you married me?"

"Not even close," she replied, rewarding him with a quick kiss. Then, pushing him away slightly, she slid her hand into his and pulled him toward the door. "Now, why don't you come out and meet our guests? You can tell them what you've done. I'm sure Margaret will be thrilled."

"I'm sure she will," he murmured, resisting her tow. "But, you realize, I'm not making promises. If they decide she isn't legitimate, they're going to take the case back with them."

"I understand. We'll make sure Margaret understands, too. Now, come on, our guests are waiting."

"In a minute. First, I want to hear about what happened at the hospital. All you told me on the phone was that there was a situation with one of your patients."

Nodding, Emma moved to the sofa in the corner of the office and pulled her husband with her. After they were seated, she slowly told him about her involvement with Jarod and his family. Beginning with the moment the Pretender was brought into the hospital, and ending with the story she'd told Lyle about Jarod being admitted to the psychiatric ward, she explained everything she'd done to help the man. When she was finished, her husband stood and crossed to the door.

"Did you know him?" he asked, facing her. "Do you know anything about Jarod's past, anything real?"

"Only what I told you."

"And yet you helped him? Emma, do you realize the danger you may have put yourself in for a man who might not be playing with a full deck?"

"You weren't there, Mike," she said, standing. "You didn't hear his cries when he had nightmares. You didn't see the panic in his eyes when he thought his mother was dead. You didn't . . ."

"I don't doubt he was in a lot of pain," he conceded, "but, surely, you've had other patients with emotional problems, feelings of abandonment . . ."

"Of course I have," she interrupted, "that's why I know Jarod's situation was different."

"Different how?"

For a brief moment, Emma looked around the room, searching for the words to answer his question. When she met his eyes, she shrugged, "I don't know. Call it intuition, experience or anything you want, all I know is that Jarod is the real deal. He told me the truth."

"But he didn't tell you much, did he?" He sighed heavily and shook his head. "What about this guy you talked to at the hospital? The one you lied to."

"His name was Mr. Lyle, but I don't think I lied. When he heard Jarod had been admitted to the psych ward, he was delighted. The only thing he questioned was when I said Jarod had become violent. Other than that, everything I said seemed to make perfect sense to him."

"Do you believe Jarod was used as a lab rat and that someone experimented on him by stopping his heart?"

"Do I believe it? Yes. Can I prove it? No. When Sydney told me the story and said to use it to distract Lyle, he wouldn't tell me if it was fact or fiction."

"And, this is the same Sydney you brought home?"

She nodded, watching Mike carefully as he began to pace.

"What do you know about this Mr. Lyle?"

Again, Emma shrugged, "Nothing except Margaret and Sydney seemed pretty determined to keep him away from Jarod."

"And, when he finds Jarod is not at the hospital, he's going to come looking for you," he groused. "Perfect."

"What do you want me to say?" she snapped, not bothering hiding the sharpness in her voice. "I did what I thought was necessary to save a man's life. You would have done the same thing. In fact, I know you have."

He shook his head. "Not like this. You may have just put your career, as well as your life, in jeopardy."

"What about the story you wrote last year? The one that ticked off every Armed Forces official from here to DC and back again? If I remember correctly, you accused them of some pretty horrific things, connected them to some questionable organizations and had the proof to back up everything you claimed."

Turning away, he ran his fingers through his hair. "That was different."

"I'm sure you would like to think so," she countered. "The military brass tried every tactic available to get you to stop your investigation, including bribery, threats, and injunctions, but you held your ground. Then, in the eleventh hour, you pulled the story."

"I explained that to you last year. I uncovered something that made the stakes too high."

Stepping behind him, Emma softened her tone and said, "Translation: you found out that the story would endanger the lives of a family you barely knew."

"It was more complicated than that," he said, after a slight hesitation.

"Maybe. But, the bottom line is that you had the ability to protect them, and you did. That's all I'm trying to do for Jarod - protect him by protecting his family."

* * *

Victor made it to the top of the sharp incline, huffing and puffing with exertion. Knowing he was just yards from where they had left the van, his hand slid into the pocket of his jacket in search of the keys. Coughing and muttering complaints only he heard, the sweeper lifted his head and came to a dead stop. Spinning in place, his eyes scanned the clearing, his heart beating faster with each second. The van was gone.

His gaze fell on the tire tracks engraved in the snow, then on the footprints that circled the area and his face darkened. There were only one set of markings, and they were small.

Miss Parker was here, he thought, and she took the van. Damn!

His first instinct was to return to the house and share the news with his boss but, even as he turned toward the path, he was distracted by another thought. Moving around the clearing, he stared at the footprints. There was no sign of Jarod.

Victor knew the Pretender and Miss Parker were practically inseparable. She was his protector. So, where was he?

* * *

Things were not supposed to be like this, she thought. Lyle was supposed to be searching Northern California for at least another week. The Major and his family were supposed to intercept Margaret before she had a chance to disappear again. Jarod was supposed to be safe and Emma wasn't even supposed to be in the picture anymore.

"How the hell did things get so out of control?" she muttered.

Maneuvering the van around the icy curve, Miss Parker tightened her grip on the steering wheel and told herself she was overreacting. She could only deal with one crisis at a time. Right now, the most important thing to do was to get Jarod out of that house before Alex discovered his presence.

Since the van was their only means of transportation, hiding it would do absolutely no good. Despite an inexplicable feeling that he was actually improving, Jarod's face had been so pale when she left him that Miss Parker needed to prepare for the worst. Besides, she was tired of the cat and mouse games with Alex.

It was time to meet her number one problem head on and hope for the best. Once Alex was taken care of, she and Jarod could discuss how to solve the other problems.

* * *

Jarod watched as Alex moved to the bottom of the stairs. With his eyes lowered, he stopped about a yard from his destination, then slowly pivoted, his gaze still on the floor.

Even from his hiding place, Jarod could see the small puddle that had caught Alex's attention. A quick glance at his boots confirmed that the water was produced by snow he had tracked in earlier. Silently chastising himself for not thinking to wipe it up, he watched Alex closely, his body instinctively tensing for battle.

When Alex raised his head, he stared out the window a moment, then turned and scanned the room. His eyes narrowed, his hands balled into fists and, finally, with his back against the wall, the man took a wide legged stance.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Jarod stiffened at the words but did not move. Instead, he watched as Alex took a few paces away from the stairs.

"I have to admit that I am disappointed," he said to the room. "If Victor and I remembered to erase the trail we left, when we entered the room - I would expect you to do the same. After all, you are the one with the higher IQ, aren't you?"

Keeping his body low, Jarod watched the other man while, simultaneously, glanced around his immediate area for something to use as a weapon. Finding nothing, he shifted his body, pressing his shoulder to the bureau and waited.

"Parker left you here, while she went for help, didn't she?" he taunted. "Let me guess, she thought you were too weak to make the trek. How does it feel to know that someone you care about thinks you're weak?"

Backing into the dark corner, his eyes still searching the room for movement, Alex gripped the handle of the axe.

"If it's any consolation, I pegged you as a lot of different things, over the years, but a coward was never one of them. Of course, things have changed, haven't they? You are all alone. No one to be a hero for."

Alex stepped around the carpet rolled up in the middle of the room and started through the maze of furniture. His eyes scanned the shadows on the floor and the wall, searching for a clue to Jarod's hiding place. After a few minutes of heavy silence, when he saw no shift in the shaded patterns, his frustration began to mount. Without warning, Alex suddenly swung the axe over his head and smashed the blade into the side of a wooden crate. Though he was sure the noise must have startled his prey, he saw no indication of movement in the shadows and felt his anger rise. He would not allow Jarod to outsmart him.

"Come on, Jarod," he taunted, "show yourself. You're just delaying the inevitable."

When the axe crashed into the back of the sofa, pushing it against the wall, Jarod held his ground and bit back his reaction to Alex's taunts.

"I can do this all night," he promised, smashing the axe into a stack of boxes. "Or, at the very least, until Victor returns. If we're lucky, he'll have Parker with him."

Gritting his teeth when one of the falling crates hit him in the side, Jarod did not move. Alex was getting closer.

"Won't that be fun?" he hissed, cracking open the side of a covered armoire. "The four of us can have a little party."

When the axe slammed into the top of the bureau he was hiding behind, the Pretender used his shoulders to push at the dresser with all his strength.

He heard Alex's cry of surprise and stood as his make-shift battering ram tipped forward. Then, before the other man could react, Jarod grabbed Alex by the shirt collar and slammed him into the wooden stair railing.

"Why don't we start that party now?" he growled. "I'm sure Parker won't mind."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	22. Chapter 22

Note: I know it's been several months since I posted a chapter to this story. On behalf of my muse, I apologize. I also thank all of you who have been sending me emails, asking for another chapter. It was greatly appreciated (and helped get my muse off her butt!) Thanks ;-)

Disclaimer in part 1

**Guilty  
**by imagine

Part 22?

As the house came into view, she slowed the van and stared at the structure from a distance. No puffs of smoke escaped through the chimney and the shoveled walk now glistened with ice. Other than the glow of light that came from the fixtures on the porch and garage wall, the house was dark. With the darkening sky as a backdrop and the long shadows that accompanied the setting sun, there was an aura of foreboding around the house.

Leaving the van at the edge of the road, she felt for the hunting knife she'd found earlier and slid into the cold. She moved quickly, at first, her eyes continually scanning the area in front as well as behind for signs of life or danger.

Her hand tightened around the knife and her eyes darted from side to side as she moved gingerly onto the porch. The door opened easily and, thankfully, quietly, revealing an equally silent house. Only her training prevented her from calling out for him.

Suppressing the urge to quickly cross the room, she glanced up the stairs to her bedroom. In the brief moment she considered going after the automatic she had left in the night stand, however, the sound of glass breaking, followed by a deep moan in the cellar brought her attention back to the open door.

Forgetting about the gun, she moved to the stairs. Another crash from the basement quickened her pace and tightened her hold on the knife. Descending slowly, she kept her back against the wall and her free hand on the railing in front of her, moving sideways from step to step. Soon, the wall opened in front of her and the basement came into view.

Mangled furniture, and the tarps that once covered them, took up the center of the chamber. Around them, splinters of wood, and dark shards of glass mixed to make a gruesome mosaic. The wall beneath the cracked window was smeared with blood. Broken and ripped boxes were tucked into the corners of the room while a roll of carpet was propped at an uneven angle against the stairs.

While her heart and mind screamed for her to call out for him, her instincts told her to remain silent. Stepping over an axe at the foot of the stairs, and then a broken shovel, she kicked at the tented pieces of cardboard in front of her. When they collapsed, she moved around them, lifting tarps and carefully sifting through the rubble of furniture.

She found him in the corner under the staircase. Somewhere between crouching and standing, he was holding his right arm just below the elbow and leaning heavily against the brick wall. He forced a smile but, when the cut on his lip began to bleed, he let the grin fade. When she reached for the large gash in the sleeve of his jacket, Jarod pulled away.

"You're hurt."

"It's just a flesh wound," he answered, glancing thoughtfully at the injury. Then, with a grin, he looked up at her and added, "Besides, you should see the other guy."

The moment the words were spoken, her body stiffened. Raising one eyebrow, she tightened her hand around the knife. "I'd love to. Where is he?"

"Relax," he chuckled, sliding his good hand around the one she used to hold the blade, "Alex isn't in any shape to . . ."

"Alex did this to you? I knew it! Where is he?" she hissed, turning as she spoke to look around the room. When her eyes came back to him, she demanded, "Why the hell didn't you keep your promise? You were supposed to stay put."

"I kept my promise, Parker. Alex found me. I did not go looking for him."

She stared at him, trying to determine if the Pretender was manipulating her or if, in fact, he was actually telling the truth. Suddenly, she couldn't be certain.

"So, where is he?"

Jarod nodded toward the back of the basement. "Under the boxes."

Turning, she crossed to the area he indicated, shooting Jarod a curious glance over her shoulder as she moved. Leaning heavily on the brick wall, he nodded again and used his injured hand to point to her left.

Carefully, she pulled at the remnants of broken crates that blocked her path. Underneath, she found Jarod's attacker, unconscious and laying on his side in a small puddle of water. The man was gagged and handcuffed to the base of a water pipe. His left arm, bent at an awkward angle, was trapped under the weight of his body.

"Did you break his arm?" she asked, glancing at Jarod.

"As much as I would love to take the credit, believe it, or not, he slipped," the man replied dryly. "He was too busy swinging the axe to see that the pipe was leaking. Of course, once he fell, I took full advantage."

"He came after you with an axe?"

"I had a two-by-four," Jarod shrugged. Adding pressure to the wound, he moved toward the steps, "Maybe he thought that made us evenly armed."

"What happened to his flunky? Victor."

"The last time I saw him, he was climbing out the window to search for us in the woods," he shrugged. "When I heard you coming down the stairs, I thought it might be him. Maybe he got lost."

"We can only hope," she sighed, glancing at the window.

"Or maybe he's . . ."

Jarod's words came to an abrupt halt as he stumbled and, immediately, Miss Parker was at his side. Grabbing his strong arm with one hand and pressing the other against his back, she guided the Pretender the last few feet to the stairs. "Sit down before you collapse."

When he looked up at her, she couldn't help but think he had paled. The purplish bruise forming below his eye and the blood stains on his chin seemed more pronounced. Reaching out, she gently slid her hand across his face. Lovingly, Jarod turned into the touch and allowed his lips to brush against her palm.

Before she even realized she was moving, Miss Parker sat beside the man and slid her arms around his neck. Though she could not find the strength to tell him how worried she had been, the moment she felt his arms circle her waist, she drew Jarod into a tight embrace. Even after she felt him squirm, shifting his body into a less painful position, she refused to loosen her hold.

"You were supposed to lay low," she finally murmured. "You were supposed to . . ."

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm okay."

* * *

Victor stepped out of the woods and started toward the house, silently cursing Alex. It angered him that he was freezing his extremities, looking for Miss Parker and the Pretender, while Alex was sitting comfortably in the house. Besides, he should be the one giving orders, not Alex. If you took into consideration that the other man had only recently gone from being a Centre project to a Centre employee, Victor had seniority. 

His mind, when it was not reeling with how unfair his life had become, was still trying to make sense of the disappearance of the van. There had been no signs of anyone, other than Miss Parker, being near the vehicle but he could not convince himself that the woman might have left without the Pretender.

Trudging through the high drifts, he made every effort to walk in the tracks he'd made previously while considering solutions to the problem. His gut was telling him that they were both long gone but if Jarod was as injured as Alex claimed, there was no way he could make it up the steep incline to the van.

Stopping in his tracks, halfway between the cabin and the tree line, Victor turned and stared up the hill. His eyes searched the darkening woods for some sign of life. When he found nothing, the sweeper sighed and started back toward the cabin. After only a few steps, though, he stopped again, and then turned toward the trees that shielded the house from the road, positive he had heard an engine. Though it could have been nothing more than someone passing by, his Centre training told him otherwise. Hesitantly, he continued toward the cabin, his eyes darting between the road and the building.

When his eyes dropped to the basement window he'd used as an exit, and he realized it was now shattered. Victor reached for his gun. Forgetting about the traffic he'd heard on the sparsely used road, he continued slowly toward the house.

In the stillness, murmured voices floated through the broken pane. Though he was still too far away to make out the words, there was no doubt that the tone of the conversation was soft and familiar. It took only a few more steps before he was able to identify the voices and, in that instant of recognition, Victor felt his heart beat accelerate.

Tightening his grip on the weapon, he crouched beside the window and peered at the two as they sat on the basement steps.

* * *

Her head rested against his shoulder, her arms were wrapped around his neck and, for a moment, it seemed as if the rest of the world had disappeared. She was trembling slightly, in his arms, but Jarod's lips easily found her forehead, her cheek and, finally, her mouth. 

The kiss was tender and, though it began as a reassuring gesture, Miss Parker suddenly pulled abruptly away. Her eyes, wide and sharp, held his for a moment then darted around the room as she rose from the step.

"We have to go," she said, reaching for the knife, she slid her free hand under his arm. "Now."

Numerous questions came to mind, but Jarod was silent as he stood. He knew Parker well enough to know that her instincts could be trusted.

* * *

When the couple began up the steps, Victor let out a soft curse and quickly moved around the house. Though he wondered, briefly, where Alex was, the Sweeper was more focused on the career opportunity that had presented itself. Despite the knowledge of those who had failed at the attempt before him, Victor was confident that he would succeed in capturing the Centre's elusive Pretender and catapult himself into a position at the Delaware headquarters. 

As he rounded the corner of the structure, he saw the van parked in the driveway. A quick hand on the hood, as he moved to the porch, told him the engine was still warm. Immediately, his mind decided that the sound he'd heard was Miss Parker's arrival at the cabin, via the van, and he smiled.

* * *

At the top of the steps, she led him to a kitchen chair and ordered him to sit. Though he obeyed, Jarod's stared at her in confusion. When she started to move away, he grabbed her hand and pulled her back to his side. 

"Where are you going?"

"Upstairs," she said motioning toward the steps. "I need my gun."

"They searched the place, Parker," he said, tightening his hand around hers. "I heard them."

"Maybe they didn't find it."

He smiled and shook his head. "I'm not the only one who would think to look under your pillow, you know."

Frowning, she pulled her hand from his and started toward the stairs.

"Stay here," she ordered. "I'll be right back."

He opened his mouth but swallowed the words of protest. Shaking his head, he crossed to the foot of the steps and watched her ascent. When she disappeared into the room she had occupied, Jarod sighed and turned away. From where he stood, he had a clear view of the kitchen, living room and dining room, as well as the hall that housed the entrances to both his and his mother's rooms.

For the first time, in hours, his thoughts floated back to his mother and he found himself regretting letting her leave in pursuit of the case. Despite Sydney's promise to keep her safe, and Parker's promise she would return, Jarod had a nagging feeling that he was never going to see the woman again.

Slowly, Jarod moved across the floor and stopped in front of his mother's room and placed his hand on the door. A sense of deja vu came over him, a feeling that he was invading her privacy and, instinctively, the Pretender took a step back.

"Go on," she urged him.

Swinging to his left, he found Parker standing beside him, her hand wrapped around the butt of her automatic. She glanced down at the weapon then brought her eyes back to his, the hint of a smile gracing her lips.

"Don't gloat," he warned. "It isn't becoming."

"Yet it never stopped you," she retorted. Then, letting her smile fade, she slipped the firearm into the waistband of her jeans and nodded toward the bedroom door. "Are you going in?"

He shook his head. As he started to move away, though, Miss Parker slid her hand around his arm. When he came to a stop, he kept his eyes trained on something directly in front of him. "Leave it alone, Parker."

"Don't tell me what to do," she warned. Moving in front of him, she waited until Jarod looked at her then, softening her tone, asked, "Why won't you go inside? What are you afraid you're going to find?"

"It's just not right. The door is closed. My mother is entitled to her privacy."

"She's not here."

"Exactly."

Scowling at him, she moved to the door and twisted the knob. Pushing it open, she watched Jarod for a reaction as it slammed against the wall.

"Now the door is open," she snarled. "Stop being such a baby and go inside."

He stared at the room a moment then shook his head. "We don't have time."

"Of course we do."

"You said we had to leave."

Lifting her shirt high enough to remind him of the gun holstered in her jeans, she tilted her head to the side and smiled, "Our situation has changed."

* * *

Victor moved onto the porch and, silently, twisted the knob on the door. Afraid of being seen, he kept his body low and only allowed the door to open a few inches. He could see them standing at the edge of one of the bedrooms and felt his heart begin to pound in anticipation. The fact that Alex was nowhere in sight only added to his excitement. He was about to make a name for himself at the Centre. He was about to capture the Pretender, singlehandedly.

* * *

Reluctantly, Jarod stepped across the threshold, into the dark room. His hand slid along the wall, easily finding the light switch. The moment he flipped the switch into the "on" position, however, he wished he hadn't.

"Looks like my room wasn't the only one they searched," Parker murmured from behind.

Lowering his hand from the wall, he curled it into a fist as he stared at the mess Alex and Victor had created in his mother's room. Drawers were hanging out of their bases, the ashes from the fireplace had been spilled onto the floor, and the braided rug that had run alongside the bed was crumpled in the corner. The sliding closet door was off its hinge, revealing the fact his mother's clothes had been pulled from their hangers, and the mattress was dangling over the edge of the box spring.

"Do you think they found what they were looking for?"

Jarod shook his head and slowly moved to the edge of the bed. Crouching beside the night stand, he slid his hand under the bed.

"Did your room look like this?"

Surveying the destruction in the room, Miss Parker thought about his question then shook her head. "No, come to think of it, they didn't destroy anything."

"And they didn't take your gun. What did they take?" he asked, pulling his hand back.

Glancing toward the door, she frowned. "I don't know."

"My guess is that they weren't looking for anything specific," he said, rising to his feet. "They were waiting for us and got bored. They made the mess, in hopes my mother would see it when she returned."

"How can you be so sure?"

Moving toward her, Jarod extended his arm and opened his hand. Inside, was the ring Parker found by the river, the ring Margaret claimed she always wore.

"Because, beside the metal case - which they knew she did not have in her possession - this was the most valuable thing my mother owned and they showed no interest in it."

Parker raised an eyebrow and watched as the Pretender slid the ring into his pocket. "And, yet, she left it behind."

"Yes, she left it behind," he smiled.

She watched him move to the edge of the bed and lean against the footboard, his eyes focused on the ring "Am I missing something?"

"Don't you see, Parker? She left it behind," he grinned. Glancing at the open closet, he added, "She left everything behind."

Suddenly, the brunette understood what he was telling her. Moving to where he stood, she slid her hand under his chin and raised his eyes to hers. "Is that why you were afraid of coming in here? You were afraid of finding everything gone?"

Nodding sheepishly, he looked back at the ring. "I really thought she was gone, for good, Parker."

"I told you I wouldn't let her leave."

Just as he was about to respond, there was a loud crash from the other room. Startled, Jarod rose to his full height and stepped protectively in front of the woman.

"Stay here," he murmured, slipping the ring into his pocket.

"Like hell I will," she spat. Grabbing his arm, she pulled the man back a few steps. When he glared at her, she pulled her gun from her waistband and showed it to him. "I have the gun, remember?"

Annoyed, Parker released Jarod and moved around him as a cacophony of sounds emanated from the next room. Though neither of them could make out the words, the shouts of at least two distinct voices could be heard among the sounds of breaking glass and cracking wood.

Raising her gun, she stepped through the door in time to see Victor being shoved violently against the kitchen table. The man that held him in place had a knife to the sweeper's neck and, despite the angle from which she saw him, Parker immediately recognized the man. Lowering her gun, she looked over her shoulder at the Pretender and grinned.

"I told you, I wouldn't let her leave," she repeated.

Stunned, Jarod looked at the woman, then brought his eyes back to the skirmish in the kitchen.

"Dad?"

* * *

Sydney slowly paced from one end of the living room to the other, his mind racing with possible consequences to their actions. He was more than aware that he was being watched but, despite his attempts to do so, he could not make himself relax. 

"When will they arrive?" Margaret asked, doing her best to ignore the psychiatrist.

Emma glanced at her husband who, in turn, looked at his watch.

"They said they would be here by nine," he replied. "So, they should be here at any minute. But, you do realize that they're not going to just hand it over to you. They're going to need some details."

"I understand, Mike," Margaret replied. "But, you have to understand that the contents of that case are extremely important. My son's life depends on me retrieving it."

"Your family Bible is that important?" he asked. "That is what you said was inside, isn't it?"

"Among other things," she grinned. Shaking her head, she added, "I've already told you, it's safer if you don't know what else is inside."

"Safer for whom?"

"You."

Mike sat forward in his chair, his arms resting on his knees as he looked at the woman. "How so?"

Margaret smiled, but did not respond. Instead, she sipped at her tea, watching the younger man over the rim of the cup.

"Tell me, Margaret, if you don't plan on telling anyone what is inside the case, how do you plan to prove it belongs to you?"

"I am the only one who can open it."

"And, I suppose you're going to expect us to leave the room while you do so."

"Mike, that's enough," Emma chastised. Rising from the sofa, she moved the fireplace and folded her arms across her chest. "Margaret is a guest in this house, not one of your informants. Please, remember that."

"Emma, don't worry, it's fine. I am not insulted," Margaret answered, her eyes still trained on Mike. "Considering his occupation, I would guess that, even under ordinary circumstances, your husband is naturally inquisitive. The fact that a situation this far from ordinary is playing out in his house probably does nothing but add to his curiosity."

"Does that mean you're going to answer my questions?" the man asked.

"No," she answered, matching his grin. "It just means I understand why you're being so persistent."

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Jarod asked, releasing the older man from a tight hug. 

"Are you complaining?"

"No, of course not. It's just . . . I thought we decided that it was safer if we kept our distance."

"Relax, Jarod," Miss Parker interjected. "Your father is here because I asked him to join us."

The Pretender's eyes widened as they darted from the brunette to the Major. Taking a step back, he shook his head, and let out a nervous laugh. "You're kidding, right?"

"Am I laughing?"

"Son, we'll explain later. Right now, we need to get out of here before our friend regains consciousness," he said, stepping over Victor's still form.

"I'll take care of Victor," Miss Parker volunteered. Pushing the unconscious man to his belly, she pulled his arms to his back. "I'll meet you outside in a few minutes."

Taking Jarod by the arm, Major Charles ushered the Pretender toward the door. "Jarod, let's go. Your brother and sister are waiting down the road and . . ."

"Wait a minute. Emily and Jake are here, too?"

Nodding, the Major pointed toward a black Suburban parked at the edge of the road. Hidden in the shadows, the vehicle was barely visible. If the occupants had not flashed the headlights as he and his father stepped into the doorway, Jarod was not sure he would have seen it.

"Someone had better tell me what's going on," he demanded. Pulling from his father's grip, Jarod faced Parker with narrowing eyes. "Why did you bring them here?"

"Jarod, we'll explain later," she breathed, pushing herself to her feet. "Just go with your father. I'm going to get Broots' lap top and . . ."

"No, you'll explain now," he growled. "I want to know why they're here, why you've taken it upon yourself to put my entire family in danger."

"Jarod, relax. It's all right," the Major promised, stepping between his son and the brunette.

"No, it's not. We've been playing tag with the Centre for weeks," he snapped. Then, facing the woman, he hissed, "Why did you bring them into this? Why did you contact them, at all? If Raines found out Jake was this close to one of the Centre safe houses, and that Emily was with him, he would do whatever was necessary to bring them in."

"Jarod, calm down."

"No, Dad, you don't understand," he growled, his eyes still trained on the crystal blue orbs of the woman. "She had no right."

"Jarod, stop it! Miss Parker brought us here because she was trying to help," the Major growled. Pushing against Jarod's chest, he forced the Pretender to take a few steps back and glared at him. "She was trying to make our family whole."

Suddenly, the anger in Jarod's dark eyes was replaced with uncertainty. Shifting his gaze from his father to Miss Parker, he asked in an accusing tone, "Is that true? Did you bring them here, now, because you thought it was what I wanted?"

The brunette stiffened at the question. Sliding her hand through the handle of the lap top, she pushed past Jarod, stopping on the porch. Then, turning in place, when he called out to her, she glared at him.

"We don't have time for this, Jarod. The longer we stand here, the more time we waste and the greater the danger for everyone," she spat. "Now, stop looking at me like I just shot your dog and let's get out of here."

He watched from the porch as she descended the steps, unsure of what to say. When she slid into the driver's seat of the van, he started down the stairs, leaning heavily on his father. With a flip of his wrist, the Major signaled his younger children and, almost immediately, the black Suburban started toward the house.

"We've been staying at a house not far from here," he announced, as Miss Parker rolled down the window of the van. "It shouldn't take more than ten minutes to get there. Do you have a way of contacting the others?"

"Broots and his daughter are at a restaurant in town, waiting for my call. I told him that if he didn't hear from me, or if he sensed any danger, to leave and not look back.," she said, glancing at Jarod. "As for Sydney, and Margaret, they're safe for the night, but we can call them when we get to the house."

Major Charles nodded and stepped toward the Suburban. With his hand on the handle of the driver's side door, he watched Jarod, waiting to see what the Pretender was going to do. When Miss Parker started the engine of the van and roll up the window, he sighed. A moment later, without a word, Jarod moved to the black vehicle and slipped into the passenger seat.

* * *

Lyle ordered the driver to pull the car to the curb while he stared at the house. The lights in the front and back were on but he saw no movement. Glancing down at the sheet of paper that held Emma's address, he confirmed he was in the right location and looked back at the house. 

He was about to order his men out of the car, and to the back of the building, when a vehicle pulled into Emma's driveway. Watching from behind tinted windows, Lyle cursed softly as the doors opened and two police officers stepped from the unmarked car. Though he was curious about the visit, and even more curious about the metal box the larger man carried, the last thing he wanted to do was deal with local law enforcement.

"What do we do now?" the driver asked.

Sitting back in his seat, Lyle replied, "We wait."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	23. Chapter 23

Disclaimer in part 1

Note: Yes, I know it's been an extremely long time since I've posted toward this story. Blame my muse. I also know that this is - for me - a very short chapter. I apologize. However, I will do my best to make sure that the next chapter will (a) be sooner and (b) be longer. Thanks for your patience ;-P

**Guilty**  
by imagine

Part 23

Margaret rose from the sofa but Sydney did not move from his place at the edge of the room. With his hands clenched and hidden inside the pockets of his jacket, he watched Jarod's mother closely as she anxiously greeted the new arrivals.

"Stan, Mark, thanks for coming," Mike grinned, taking turns shaking the men's hands.

Sydney nodded in their direction as Mike made a quick introduction, then turned his eyes back on Margaret. Behind her, through the light-colored sheers that donned the window, he saw headlights and a compact car cruise down the adjacent street.

He tensed until the vehicle was gone, then noticed the sedan parked a few yards from the house. Parked on the opposite side of the street, it was in front of a dark SUV. From where he stood, Sydney could not be certain whether either vehicle was occupied. When he saw no movement, however, the psychiatrist moved further into the room and took a seat in the wing back chair that decorated the corner. His new position gave him a less conspicuous view of the street while still allowing him to keep an eye on Margaret and the others in the house.

"I understand that you claim to be the owner of this box," Stan said, when he was introduced to Jarod's mother. "Is that true?"

"Yes. It was in the trunk of my car when it went off the bridge on Route 3."

He frowned and glanced at Mark. "I understand a man was found on the shore of the river, very close to where your car was discovered. Is he an acquaintance of yours?"

"He's my son."

Sydney slid his hands from the pockets and folded them on his lap. He had not expected the woman to be so honest with her answers and he was curious how long she would continue. At some point, he decided, she would need to start coloring the truth, if she had any hope of protecting Emma, Mike, and their visitors from the Centre.

"I see. Where is he now?"

"Resting. Jarod's injuries were extensive but, luckily, not life threatening." She looked the gentleman in the eye and forced a smile. "He promises that, after a few weeks, he will be as good as new."

"Is your son a doctor?"

Glancing at Sydney, her smile faded but Margaret shook her head and looked back at the men. "No, but he does have medical training. Now, may I please see the box? I need to confirm its contents have not been damaged."

The psychiatrist shifted his attention from the woman back to the two men. He saw their reluctance as well as the questions that had yet to ask. When they refused her request, stating that they needed more information, Sydney sighed and leaned back in the chair. As Margaret feigned indignation, he glanced out the window and frowned. Though the cars had not moved, and the glare of a street lamp prevented him from a clear view of the occupants, he thought he saw a shadow shift.

"Sydney, tell them how important it is that I open the case," Margaret demanded. "Tell them . . ."

Ignoring the woman, he rose from the chair. "Excuse me," he said as he started across the room, "I need to attend to an important matter. I'll be right back."

* * *

Crossing into the dining area, she deposited her case on the table and took in the surroundings. The house was set deeper in the woods, and was smaller than the one they had just left. The main level had three bedrooms and one bath. The kitchen was designed like a galley and the living and dining areas were combined. There was no second floor but, from the outside, she saw windows at ground level that told her there was a basement.

"I know it doesn't seem like much but, it's safe," the Major offered.

Looking up at the man, Miss Parker nodded. When Jarod appeared, with Emily and the boy in tow, she glanced at him for only a moment before looking back at the Major. "Safe, is a relative term," she warned, "People trapped in close quarters have been known to kill each other."

"They've also been known to work together and develop a sense of trust."

Frowning at him, she turned away. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jarod hesitate as he passed the table but she did not meet his gaze. If he intended to apologize, she was not going to make it easy for him. If he intended to continue their fight, she wanted to make it clear that she was ready. Dropping his eyes, the Pretender continued through the house, without a word.

"He feels bad, you know."

She looked at the young man, arched an eyebrow and nodded. "Good."

The boy frowned and took a seat at the table as Miss Parker turned her attention back to the computer. Less than a minute later, the weight of his stare became too much.

"What?" she snapped.

He shrugged and shook his head. "I didn't say anything."

She scowled at him and looked back at the computer. "Don't you have something to do?"

"Nope. Dad and Jarod are in the bedroom," he answered, watching her unwind the cords she pulled from a pocket inside the case. "I imagine Dad is trying to get him to come out and talk to you, so I would just be in the way."

"Well, you're in the way, here, too. Why don't you go help your sister?"

"Emily is in the bathroom. I think she's quite capable of doing whatever it is she's doing without my help."

Miss Parker glared at him, then shook her head. Dropping the computer cords on the table, she sat in the seat beside him and looked at the young man. It had been a long time since she'd seen him up close and it appeared that the child she'd promised to help no longer existed. In a matter of a few years, he had become an adult with broad shoulders, chiseled features and a five o'clock shadow. Suddenly, she felt old.

"So," she sighed, "what should I call you? The last I heard, you were deciding between Lucas and Conner."

He shrugged and scratched at the light beard on his face. "My name is Drew."

"As in Barrymore, Carey or Nancy?" she teased.

"Cute. Not funny, but definitely, cute."

She waited for him to explain the name and, when he was silent, Miss Parker sat back in the chair. Simultaneously, she crossed her arms and her legs. Her blue eyes locked onto his deep brown orbs and, silently, she pressured the young man for an answer.

"It's short for Andrew, which is Dad's middle name, if you must know."

Miss Parker leaned forward, sliding her hands to the arms of the chair. "Yes, I must. And, for the record, it's a nice name."

He nodded and returned her smile briefly. Then, taking a serious tone, he said, "I'm glad you called us, Miss Parker. We haven't heard from Jarod in a few weeks and we were getting worried."

"I called the Major because I hoped he could keep Margaret from disappearing," she replied. "It never occurred to me that he would make this a family outing. I should have known better."

With his hands folded on the table, his eyes suddenly found something interesting in the way his fingers over lapped. "Why? Why do you care if she disappears?"

"Because I know, first hand, what your family has been through. You deserve to be whole."

She watched him struggle with his thoughts, his face screwing in uncertainty before he finally looked up and asked, "What is she like?"

"Who? Margaret?"

He nodded. "I don't know much about her."

She thought about her response, biting back the sarcastic reply that came to mind. The boy was serious. He was worried about meeting the woman Jarod and Emily referred to as 'Mom'.

"Well, she and I don't exactly see eye to eye," Parker admitted. When the young man bit his lip and sighed in disappointment, she added, "But I will tell you this, she's very devoted to her family. Everything she's done, she's done to keep those she loves safe."

"Does she know about me?"

"You would have to ask Jarod that question. Like I said, Margaret and I aren't exactly at the coffee clutch and confidante stage of our relationship."

He glanced at the door that led to the room Jarod and the Major were holed up, then lowered his head. Both hands rose from the table and clasped each other behind his neck. His dark hair fell forward, shielding the bit of his face she would have been able to view.

"I don't know whether Margaret knows about you, or not," she said softly, "but I do know that she will protect you with her life. You are a member of her family, Drew."

He took a deep breath and let his hands drop back to the table. "She'll protect me."

His voice was barely a whisper but Miss Parker heard his disappointment. Sliding her hand over his, she squeezed it gently and waited for him to raise his eyes to her. "She'll love you. You're her son."

Drew stared at her while his hand wrapped around hers. He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder before facing her again. She saw something in his eyes, and waited for him to speak but, before the young man could formulate his question, her cell phone sounded. Releasing a soft curse, she reached for the device and brought it to her ear.

"This had better be important," she snapped.

"Miss Parker, it's me," Sydney murmured. "I think we may have a situation."

* * *

Lyle glanced at his watch then turned his attention back on the house. Whatever was happening inside was taking too long, as far as he was concerned. Sliding his cell phone from the inside pocket of his jacket, he pressed a single digit and brought the device to his ear.

"Pull the car out of sight, around the corner," he said, as way of greeting. "I want to know about any activity at the back of the house. Yes, I know that means you will need to get out of the car. Do it."

Snapping the phone closed, he slid it into his jacket as the headlights from the SUV were ignited. When the vehicle moved from its parking space, and turned the corner at the end of the block, he met the driver's gaze in the rear view mirror of the sedan.

"Stay put," he ordered. "When it's time for us to move, I will tell you."

"Yes, Sir."

* * *

By the time Miss Parker disconnected the call, Jarod and his father had emerged from the back bedroom and were standing behind Drew.. A few seconds later, Emily was beside them.

"Who was on the phone?" the Pretender asked.

"Sydney," she answered, rising from her chair. She punched out another number on the phone and said, "We have a problem."

Jarod laid his hand on Drew's shoulder as he moved around the young man, letting the physical connection break only when he was standing in front of Miss Parker. Their eyes met and, instantly, the brunette turned away.

"Broots, it's me. Listen very carefully," she said, into the phone, "I want you to go to Emma's house but do not go inside. Park one block South of the house and wait for me . . . Yes, one block South. Trust me. I'll be there in twenty minutes and I'll explain everything."

"Parker, what's happening?" Jarod asked, when she faced him.

"Sydney thinks the Centre is watching the house."

"They haven't made a move?"

"No but it's only a matter of time. Two police officers are inside," she explained, starting toward the door. "They're acquaintances of Mike who brought the case to your mother. Once they leave, all hell is going to break loose."

"Case?" Major Charles repeated. "What case?"

"It's a metal box that Mom has been carrying around," Jarod replied, sliding into his jacket. "It contains the scrolls."

"I don't understand," Emily admitted. "If the Centre wants the scrolls so badly, why would they wait for these officers to leave? Why wouldn't they . . ."

"One of the Cardinal Rules at the Centre is that no one gets involved with the local authorities," Jarod explained. "Whoever is watching the house will wait."

"It's Lyle," Miss Parker grumbled, checking the ammunition in her gun. "It has to be Lyle."

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: For those of you still following this story - thank you for your patience and emails asking for an update. I'm just sorry it took so long. Hope you like it.

Disclaimer in part 1

**Guilty**  
by imagine

Part 24/?

"Dad, someone is coming."

In response to his daughter's words, Broots slid his eyes from the street to the rear view mirror. His hands tightened around the steering wheel then, just as quickly, relaxed. Without dropping his eyes from the reflection, he leaned forward, his right hand hovering over the ignition key as he watched the dark vehicle come to a complete stop behind them.

He felt the weight of Debbie's frightened gaze but could not bring himself to look at her. When Miss Parker ordered him to Emma's house, and then warned him to stay one block south because Lyle and his men were already on sight, he had followed the directive without question. Unfortunately, in the more than sixty minutes that had ticked by, his confidence in the brunette had begun to deteriorate into fear for his daughter's safety.

"Get down, Honey, and make sure your seat belt is fastened," he murmured, his hand tightening around the key as the driver's side door of the Suburban swung open. "We may have to leave very quickly."

Doing as her father asked, Debbie gripped the shoulder sash of her seatbelt with both hands. Her eyes darted from the side mirror of the car to her father, watching the muscles in his neck and shoulder tense. She knew he was trying to decide whether or not to start the engine.

"Miss Parker told us to wait for her, here, didn't she?"

When her father didn't respond, Debbie sighed, biting back the temptation to repeat the question.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered.

"I don't know," he hissed. "Please, let me think!"

The harshness of his voice was unexpected. Nodding silently, she swallowed and rolled her gaze back to the mirror as her father glanced in her direction.

"I'm sorry, Honey," he sighed, using a softer voice. "I didn't mean to snap at you. We're going to be all right. Just stay down."

Before she could respond, there was a loud knock against driver's window and the sound of someone pulling on the handle. Startled, she jerked her head toward her father but he had managed to resist the urge to look at the window beside him. Instead, he had started the car and his hand had moved to the gear shift.

"Dad! Wait!" Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around his wrist and motioned to his left. "It's Miss Parker."

"Unlock the damn doors!" the woman hissed through the glass. "NOW!"

His hands were shaking when he hit the button to release the electronic locks on all four doors. Seconds later, Miss Parker slid into the back seat with Jarod close behind.

"Cut the engine, Mr. Broots," Jarod said softly. "We don't want to attract attention."

Nodding nervously, the technician did as he was told. Then, taking a deep breath to steady himself, turned in his seat to face the newcomers. "I - I'm sorry. I didn't recognize the car. I thought . . ."

Jarod inhaled sharply and, despite the annoyed glare he shot at Miss Parker, he interrupted calmly, "It's all right, Mr. Broots. We should have told you we would be driving my father's car."

"Your father's car?" the man repeated, his eyes darting from Jarod to Miss Parker. "You mean the Major finally showed up?"

"Yes. He is waiting at the safe house, with Emily and Drew."

"I thought the safe house was . . . um . . . no longer safe."

"Well, thanks to my father, we have _new_ accommodations."

Broots hesitated, unsure of whether he had actually heard an accusatory tone in Jarod's voice. Shooting a quick glance at Miss Parker, he saw her scowl at the Pretender then shake her head. Obviously, she had heard the same tone but, for whatever reason, she kept her response to herself.

"Um, don't you mean, thanks to Miss Parker?" he asked, turning his gaze on Jarod as a small smile graced Miss Parker's lips. "She is the one who contacted the Major and told him where to find you."

Ignoring the question, the Pretender reached over the seats and handed Broots a hand written map. "These are very detailed directions to the cabin. Your travel time should be no more than thirty minutes but, if you run into any trouble, my father's cell phone number is at the bottom. Do not lose this piece of paper."

The balding man nodded absently as he read the directions then handed it to his daughter.

"Aren't you coming with us?" Debbie asked nervously.

"If all goes as planned we will be only about ten minutes behind you," Jarod smiled. "First, we need to get my mother and Sydney out of the house."

"How are you going to do that, with Lyle watching?" Broots asked. "The minute he sees you . . ."

"We have it all worked out," Miss Parker interrupted. "All you need to do is wait for our signal."

"Signal?"

"Jarod and I are going to create a distraction. Once it starts, we will head into the house and you will drive away."

Broots looked at her, skeptically. "I hope this distraction of yours took into consideration that Lyle isn't alone. There is a second car parked around the corner."

"Don't worry, Mr. Broots," Jarod replied. "As Miss Parker said, we have it all worked out."

Debbie frowned as the brunette pulled out her cell phone. "What are you doing?"

"Getting the ball rolling," she answered, punching the necessary digits on the device. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we get out of here."

Then, raising her hand to stop Debbie or Broots from asking another question, she spoke into the phone. "I would like to report some suspicious behavior."

They listened, quietly, as Miss Parker identified herself as Samantha Ryan and recited the address across from where they were parked. Frowning, Broots shifted in his seat and motioned toward the Pretender. When Jarod leaned closer, the tech whispered, "Who is she calling?"

"The police," Jarod grinned.

* * *

"Without identification . . ." 

"How many times do I need to tell you that my identification was lost when the car went over the bridge? It's probably at the bottom of the river," Margaret countered.

"Then we need someone to vouch for who you are."

Motioning behind the man, at where Emma and Mike were standing, Margaret pressed, "Emma has . . ."

"Emma has admitted that she did not meet you until after your son was released from the hospital," the man interjected. Shooting a quick glance at the nurse, who shifted anxiously under his inspection, he added. "She has no way of knowing if you are who you say are."

"Sydney was with Jarod at the hospital," the woman spat. "If you won't believe her, why won't you accept _his_ word as to who I am?"

"We've been over this, several times already," the man sighed, rising from the sofa. "Without identification, the only person I can hand this case over to is your son."

"That's ridiculous. It's _my_ case!"

Sydney frowned at the response. Judging by the tone of the man's voice, the discussion was nearing its end and Margaret was beginning to panic.

"I think this could all be resolved very simply." When the others in the room looked at him, the psychiatrist motioned toward Jarod's mother and continued, "Margaret is the only one who knows the contents of the case. She is also the only one who knows how to open it."

"We don't know that she is the only one," the Detective sighed and rose to his feet. "I am very sorry but rules are rules. Now, if you will excuse us, we need to be getting back to the station."

Sydney stood as Margaret made a move to do the same, quickly stepping between her and the other man. "I see. Obviously, this is not how we had hoped our meeting would end but we do appreciate the time you both took to talk with us."

The psychiatrist shook hands with the men, offering them each a congenial smile as they headed toward the door. They'd taken only a few steps when flashing red and blue lights suddenly reflected into the room. Moving to the window, they peered outside as a patrol car came to a stop in the middle of the street.

"There seems to be some trouble in front," Sydney commented.

"There is a car over here, too," Emma called.

Turning toward her voice, they found the woman holding back the curtains that draped a window that overlooked the side yard. A heartbeat after her words were spoken, muffled but demanding shouts could be heard from outside. Without hesitation, Mike moved to his wife's side and pulled her away from the window.

"Someone is coming up the walk," Margaret announced.

Shooting a quick glance at Emma and Mike, Stan asked, "Are you expecting anyone else?"

Before a verbal response could be uttered, however, the door swung open. In an instant, both police detectives had their guns drawn and pointed at the entrance. "Hands in the air!"

Coming to an abrupt halt behind Miss Parker, Jarod obeyed the command as he muttered in her ear, "I told you we should have rung the bell."

* * *

"Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine, Mom," he promised. Her arm slid around his waist and, though the touch was gentle, he winced as she brushed against a bruised rib. When she looked up at him, and frowned, Jarod grinned and added, "Really."

"You know this man?"

Margaret turned to glare at the man with the gun. "What, exactly, was your first clue, Detective? Was it the fact that I stepped between him and your gun or the fact that he referred to me as 'Mom'?"

Though he did not verbally reprimand his mother for her tone, the Pretender gently squeezed her shoulder and took a step forward. "My name is Jarod."

He watched as the armed men glanced at Emma who smiled and nodded her confirmation of his identity. When the guns were sheathed, and the two men backed cautiously away, Jarod nodded and moved further into the room.

"Your mother told us you were badly injured."

Shooting his mother a disapproving look, Jarod replied, "I am feeling much better."

His eyes slid from face to face, offering each a quiet smile until he noticed the metal case on the floor. Taking a deep breath, he turned to face the strangers in the room.

"Miss Parker and I apologize for our abrupt entrance, but I am afraid we are in a bit of a hurry. Sydney, Mom, we need to leave. Now."

"No one is going anywhere. I have a few questions for you."

"About what?"

"Well, the metal case your mother is so interested in retrieving, for one."

"It _is_ her case."

"Are you sure?"

Jarod glanced at his mother then, seeing her frustration, chuckled and faced the other man. "Yes, Sir. My mother has been very concerned about its whereabouts for some time. Do you have something we need to sign in order to take possession? As I mentioned, we are in a hurry."

"Why?"

The Pretender frowned but did not avert his gaze. "It's a family matter."

"I see, well, for the time being I think your family is safer here." Turning toward his partner, without breaking the heavy gaze he had on the Pretender, Stan said, "Mark, find out who dispatched the uniformed units and why."

"I can save you the trouble. The cars were dispatched because there was a call about suspicious activity in the area," Miss Parker announced, moving into the living room.

"And you know this because . . .?"

"I placed the call."

"Are you aware it is illegal to make a false report to the police, Miss Parker?"

"Of course," she sighed, moving around him.

"So, you admit . . ."

"Look, you moron," she snapped, spinning to face him. "If you had been paying attention, you would have noticed that this house has been under surveillance for hours. The moment there is no longer police presence, the lives of everyone here will be in danger."

Stan stepped in front of the woman, his arms folded tightly across his broad chest. "Why do you think there is a threat? What could the men in those cars possibly want from Emma and Mike?"

"It's not Emma or Mike that they're after," she hissed, her impatience getting the best of her. "Which is why we need to get out of here while they're preoccupied."

"Detective, considering our entrance, I understand your skepticism," Jarod interjected. "However, if they search the men outside, your officers will find that each is carrying a weapon."

Stan stared at the Pretender for a long moment then faced Mark to ensure that the man had overheard Jarod's words before turning his attention back on Jarod. "We will notify the units outside to proceed with caution. But, you have me curious, Jarod. If we search you and your friend, will we find that you are also carrying weapons?"

Jarod sighed, his eyes traveling from the man in front of him to Miss Parker and Sydney. Though he had anticipated some resistance to believe their claims, he had not prepared himself for the conversations to be so antagonistic. His eyes slid to his mother as she moved closer to the metal case. Before he realized he was doing so, the Pretender was wondering if the current attitude of the detectives had been influenced by their interaction with the woman.

"Stan, I think you're missing his point."

Surprised by the voice, Jarod turned to find Emma's husband standing at his side.

"Mike, I don't tell you how to research your articles, don't tell me how to conduct an police investigation."

"What, exactly, are you investigating?" the man insisted as he crossed his arms over his chest. "The only mistake made by Jarod or Miss Parker was coming through that door without knocking. For the record, neither Emma or I will be pressing charges."

"Can you honestly stand there and tell me you are not a little bit suspicious about this bunch? They are manipulating us so they can get their hands on that case," he growled. "I am just doing what I was trained to do, Mike. I am trying to find out the truth. I want to know what is so damned special about that case."

Mike hesitated, his eyes darting from his friend to Jarod. "Then, just ask them."

The Pretender's eyes widened for only a moment before he nodded silently at Emma's husband. The man was right. If they had any chance of getting out of this house before Lyle and his men could get to them, they needed to, at least, appear to be cooperative. Turning his gaze on Stan, while avoiding those of the others in the room, he said, "I will tell you what you want to know. First, I need you to do something for me."

* * *

They saw the reflection of the headlights on the far wall before they heard the sound of tires on the gravel driveway. Instinctively, Major Charles drew his gun and stepped behind the door, motioning for his children to move into one of the bedrooms. When Drew hesitated and took a step toward his father, the older man scowled. 

"Get back," he hissed. "I can handle this."

The young man's eyes darted toward the sheer-covered window beside the door. "Dad, what if . . .?"

"I want you out of here, Drew," the man growled. "Now."

"Dad's right," Emily whispered. Wrapping her hand around her brother's arm, she pulled him toward the back of the house. "It's safer for everyone if we are out of the way."

"Safer for who?" he dared.

"Drew, don't do this," she warned, her eyes darting toward the front door. "Not now. Please."

With a heavy sigh, the young man looked from his sister to his father and then, reluctantly, let Emily lead him into the bedroom. But, when the door closed, he refused to step further into the chamber. Wrapping his hand around the knob, he pressed his ear to the wood and listened intently for sounds from the main part of the house.

"This is ridiculous," Emily muttered, moving beside him. "Dad can take care of himself."

"So can I."

Grabbing the young man under the chin, she brought his dark eyes to hers. "I never said otherwise."

"But Dad has, hasn't he?"

"No, he hasn't," she insisted, tightening her grip when he tried to pull away. "Believe me, Little Brother, Dad is well aware of your capabilities. He is your biggest fan."

Finally freeing himself of the woman's hold, Drew stepped away from the door and sat on the edge of the bed. His hands slid through his hair and, while he tried to find the words to explain what he was feeling, the mattress dipped beside him.

"Then why does he keep treating me like a child?"

"He doesn't treat you any differently than he treats me," she smiled. When Drew scowled, she let out a soft laugh. "Do you have a problem being treated the same as your sister?"

"This isn't funny, Emily. I want to help."

"You are helping."

"No," he growled. "Whenever there is the slightest sign of danger, Dad becomes Major Charles. He gives orders and refuses to listen. He sends me away. He tells me to trust him but he doesn't trust me."

"What?"

"Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about," he grumbled, his eyes darting toward the door. "Dad doesn't think I can stand up to them. He's afraid I won't be able to fight the Centre because they raised . . they _created_ . . . me. He's afraid they have some kind of control over me, or that I feel some kind of loyalty to them."

"You're wrong."

"I wish I was."

His gaze dropped to his hand as Emily covered it with her own.

"Listen to me, Drew. I promise, you are wrong," she whispered. "Dad isn't afraid of you. He's afraid of them and what they could do ... what they've done ... to this family."

He brought his eyes to hers and opened his mouth to speak but Emily placed a finger over his lips and said, "The Centre cheated Dad out of being a husband or a father. Jarod was lost to him for almost forty years. I was out of his life for thirty. He hasn't seen Mom in nearly thirty five and he knows he will never see Kyle again. Do you have any idea what that does to a someone like our father? It slowly destroys him."

He stared at his sister openly, unsure of how to respond. Major Charles was definitely a proud man but, Drew suspected, the man he'd been before the Centre had been filled with more pride. The Centre had humbled him when they took Jarod, and then Kyle, but they had not destroyed him. Even his separation from Emily and Margaret were not enough to bring him to his knees. His father had once confessed that his determination to reunite his family had given him a strength he hadn't known has a younger man.

Listening to Emily, Drew wondered why she thought she was proving him wrong. The only explanation for the Major's refusal to include him in his battles with the Centre was trust.

"Dad isn't afraid of you betraying him, Drew," she said, as if she'd read his thoughts. "He is afraid of not being able to protect you. If something happened to you, if you were taken away from us, it would kill him."

It took him a moment to understand what she was telling him and, during his hesitation, she leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. Distracted by the embrace, he slowly slid his arms around her waist and closed his eyes.

"Be patient with him," she whispered. "Give his heart some time to admit you are a man and not a child."

Before he could formulate a response, Drew was startled by a loud crash, followed by a soft cry. Abruptly pulling out of his sister's embrace, he reached the door as his father's voice called out for him. Ignoring Emily's plea to be careful, Drew opened the door and disappeared into the next room.

* * *

"You want me to do something for you?" 

Jarod nodded, including the sarcasm in the man's voice. "I will stay here and answer all your questions on the condition that you let Miss Parker leave with my mother and Sydney."

"No!."

"Mom, it's all right." Moving to his mother's side, the Pretender slid his arms around her shoulders and whispered, "Miss Parker will take you some place safe. I will be along as soon as I'm done here."

"Don't listen to him."

Startled by the voice, Jarod looked up to find Miss Parker standing behind his mother with her arms crossed. Her blue eyes, caught in the still flashing lights of the police cars outside, seemed to take on a firey quality as she returned the Pretender's stare.

"Parker, what are you doing?" he hissed.

"Saving your ass," she retorted. Then, glancing at his mother, she added, Not to mention hers, if you think she and I can be alone for more than a few minutes."

Still in her son's arms, Margaret turned toward the brunette. Though she would never be sure, for a moment, Miss Parker thought she saw a smile cross the older woman's lips before she pivoted away and pushed herself from Jarod's hold. "For once, Miss Parker and I agree on something. We are not leaving you behind."

"Mom . . ."

"I mean it, Jarod," she warned. Crossing to the sofa, she sat down and stared at her son. "If you are not leaving, neither am I."

The Pretender looked helplessly from one woman to the other, then slid his gaze to Sydney. In response, the psychiatrist shrugged and lowered himself to the nearest chair without saying a word.

"It seems your friends are not willing to let you make a unilateral decision," the detective remarked. When Jarod looked at him, he added, "So, why don't you just tell me what's going on? The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can all leave."

Jarod looked over the man's shoulder at the police cars in the street and shook his head. "We don't have time. Your officers are just about done questioning Lyle and his men. If we aren't gone . . ."

"Lyle? Lyle is one of the men out there?" Mike asked. When Jarod faced him in surprise and nodded, he stiffened and stepped in front of his wife.

"Mike, let it go."

"Like hell I will."

Turning away from the detective, Jarod faced Emma and her husband. "How do you know Lyle?"

"I don't, but she does," Mike barked.. "She lied to him for you."

Jarod's eyes widened. "What are you talking about?"

"Mike, calm down," Emma murmured, slipping her hand around his arm.

Ignoring the woman, Mike turned his glare on Sydney. "Tell him. Tell him how you used my wife to lie for you."

"Sydney, what is he talking about?" Jarod asked, his voice taking on a demanding tone.

"Lyle showed up at the hospital," the psychiatrist said, rising from the chair. "He was asking questions about you. It was only a matter of time before he discovered that your mother had been admitted."

Jarod listened intently as Sydney and Margaret took turns explaining how they had escaped Lyle's detection at the hospital. He paced the length of the room, his eyes briefly darting toward Emma only when Sydney admitted the part of his past that had been shared with the woman.

"Well, I guess now we know how Lyle ended up on the street where you live," Miss Parker sighed.

"Sydney, how could you?" Jarod whispered. "How could you put her in that kind of danger?"

"It was the only way to get your mother out of the hospital," Emma replied, confidently stepping beside the older man. "I would do it again, in a heartbeat."

Looking at the woman, Jarod shook his head. "I appreciate that you were willing to protect my mother, Emma. In fact, I am very grateful but, you have no idea how dangerous Lyle can be when he doesn't get what he wants."

"Let me guess. He wants your mother's case, doesn't he?"

Jarod released a heavy breath and nodded. "Yes, Detective, Lyle wants my mother's case . . .and me."

* * *

"Dad, are you sure you're all right?" 

He smiled and nodded as he lowered himself to the hard wooden chair. "I'm fine, Honey."

"Jarod said we would be welcome here!" the girl shouted, turning to face the older man in the room.

The Major nodded apologetically, his eyes never leaving the girl's face. "You are, Debbie. I promise, you and your father are welcome to stay here."

"Then why did you ambush my father like that? You hit him from behind."

"I know, and I'm sorry," he said, shifting his gaze to the man in the chair. "I didn't know who you were. I thought the Centre had found us."

"You didn't even ask who he was or . . ."

"Debbie, that's enough," Broots scolded calmly. "The Major was just protecting his family. This was just as much my fault. I should have known better than to just walk in. I should have called him from the car, or knocked on the door before . . ."

"This was not your fault, Dad," she insisted, crouching beside her father. "He could have killed you."

"Oh, please, stop with the dramatics already, will you? He has a bump on the back of his head, not a bullet hole."

"Drew!"

"I'm sorry, Dad, but how many times is she going to accuse you? You've already apologized." Then, looking at Debbie as she stood and moved between him and her father, he said, "Let it go."

"And if I don't?" she dared. "What are you going to do?"

"All right, that's enough," Emily ordered, pulling her brother back so she could move in front of him. "Both of you knock it off."

"Em . ."

"I said, knock it off!" she growled at her brother. "Debbie has a right to be upset. Unless you can, honestly, tell me that you would not have reacted the same way, if the situations were reversed, you need to keep your trap shut."

"Finally. Someone who . . ."

"And, you need to let it go, too," she said, not bothering to soften her tone as she turned on the younger woman. "I know you got scared but your father was not seriously hurt and he's already accepted my father's apology. Move on."

Her eyes widening at the reprimand, Debbie glanced at her father who nodded in agreement and reached out for her hand. Taking a deep breath, the girl moved to his side and swallowed the words that would have continued the altercation with Jarod's family.

"All right," Emily sighed, nodding at the silence in the room. "Now that we've settled that, I'd like to know where Jarod and Miss Parker are. When was the last time you saw them?"

Broots glanced at his watch and shrugged. "They said they'd be about ten minutes behind us. Looks like they're running a little late."

Frowning, the Major moved to the door and crossed his arms. "I hope that's all it is."

* * *

"What do you mean, they want you?" 

Jarod shook his head and crossed to the window. With his arms crossed in front of him, he stared out at the police cars for a moment, then turned to face the detective. "It's a long story. One we don't have time to get into, right now."

"Make the time."

"Jarod is right," Miss Parker interjected. "The moment your men leave is the moment we become trapped in this house."

"Then, if I were you, I would talk fast."

"Detective, please, at least tell your officers to detain Lyle and his men a little longer," Margaret insisted. "My son has already told you that they're concealing weapons. Would it hurt to check it out?"

"We already have." The room turned their eyes on the younger detective. When he had their attention, he looked at Stan and said, "The weapons are registered to a corporation in Delaware. While we check it out, those men aren't going anywhere except to the station."

"Mark, did you say the guns were registered to a corporation in Delaware?" Mike repeated. "What corporation?"

Looking down at this notes, the man replied, "A place call the Centre."

"The Centre? What the hell did you get us involved in?" Mike demanded, pivoting away from the detective. Crossing the room, he grabbed Jarod by the shirt and pushed him against the wall. "No more riddles, Jarod. I want to know what the hell is going on and what you have to do with the Centre. I want to know now."

The attack was unexpected, setting off a chain reaction of small bursts of pain throughout Jarod's body. His hands instinctively wrapped around Mike's wrists and gripped them tightly, but he did not push the man away. Instead, he took a deep breath and released it slowly, waiting for the discomfort he'd become accustomed to over the past few weeks to return.

In unison, Emma and Miss Parker crossed to where the two men were continuing their silent struggle.

"Mike, stop it!" Emma yelled, tugging on the man's right shoulder. "Let him go. Can't you see he's hurt?"

There was something about the woman's tone that made her husband loosen his grip. In that split second, the muscles of his captive tensed and, with one explosion of energy, Jarod pushed the man away. Mike stumbled then, his face hardening, lunged at the Pretender. This time, though, Margaret's son was ready for the attack and greeted Mike with a hard fist to the gut and another to the jaw.

"That's enough!"

The men looked up, the frustration etched on their faces melting away as Miss Parker and Emma moved between them. The brunette glared at Jarod, then at Mike. In a quiet, but demanding voice, she asked, "What do you know about the Centre?"

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	25. Chapter 25

Disclaimer in Part 1

**Guilty  
**by imagine

part 25/?

"What do you know about the Centre?"

His eyes slid from Jarod to the demanding blue eyes of Miss Parker but he did not respond immediately. Instead, Mike held the woman's gaze while he carefully wiped the trace of blood from his lip. Then, in a deep, confident voice, he looked back at the Pretender and said, "Enough to know that I want all of you out of my house. Now."

Jarod stiffened, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he pushed himself from the wall and straightened his stance. He opened his mouth to speak but, before he could utter any words, Emma was tugging gently on her husband's arm. "Mike, calm down. Let's talk."

Though the man let himself be lead into the hall and through the doors opposite the living room, he never broke the eye contact he had initiated with Jarod.

"What was that all about?" Miss Parker asked, when the couple was gone.

Jarod shook his head and let his gaze slide to the brunette. "I don't know," he muttered softly. "Mike obviously knows more than he's letting on."

"Obviously," she sighed. "But, how is that possible?"

"He's a reporter," Margaret offered, moving beside her son. When all eyes were on her, she added, "And a very inquisitive one, at that."

"Mom, how do you know Mike is a reporter?"

"She's right," Stan interjected. "Mike is a correspondent for the AP. Now, why don't you tell me why he got so upset? What is the Centre?"

Jarod and Miss Parker looked at each other before the woman answered, "It's a think tank, of sorts."

"A think tank run by mercenaries, thieves and murderers," Jarod added, not bothering to hide the contempt in his voice. "They will do anything for anyone, for the right price."

"So, what does that make the two of you? Thieves or murderers?"

"Which would you prefer?" Jarod asked, a dark grin forming on his lips. His head tilted to the side and his right eyebrow rose higher than the left as he turned his gaze on his mentor. "I can be anyone you want me to be. Can't I, Sydney?"

"Jarod, please, this is not the time or place."

The Pretender frowned at the psychiatrist, then brought his gaze back to the other man. "Let's just say we are doing what we can to sever our ties to the Centre, and leave it at that, for the moment, Detective."

Stan hesitated. Jarod's tone had suddenly adopted a quality he couldn't quite identify but he did not have the time to decide whether or not he should push the man for a straight answer.

"The less you know, the better," Margaret interjected, drawing the Detective's attention away from her son. "The Centre is a dangerous organization with equally dangerous clients."

"I have dealt with dangerous . . ."

"Not like the Centre," she insisted sadly. "I guarantee that you have never felt the kind of pain and desperation that comes from their methods, Detective. They have the capability to rip your heart out while keeping your mind and body in tact."

"What does that mean?"

Margaret did not respond. Instead, she looked at Jarod and squeezed his hand. His dark eyes met hers and then moved to the Detective. "My family was torn apart for many years because of the Centre. We are only now beginning to come together. Unfortunately, they will do anything to prevent that from happening."

"And, Mike? What does any of this have to do with him or Emma?"

Jarod looked back at the door Emma and her husband had disappeared through as it opened. Emma stepped into the hall, glanced at the concerned faces in the living room, then dropped her eyes and closed the door. "Maybe we are about to find out."

The woman crossed to the threshold of the room, her arms wrapped around waist. Jarod watched as she came to a stop and took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever it was she had to say.

"Emma, is everything all right?" Sydney asked.

She shook her head and forced an apologetic smile. "I have never seen him this way."

"What way?" Jarod asked, moving toward the woman.

Emma brought her gaze to the Pretender. When their eyes met, she whispered, "Frightened. I have never seen him so frightened. He won't talk to me about it."

Taking her hand, Jarod brought the woman to the sofa and sat beside her. "Emma, before we go, we need to know what Mike knows about the Centre. It is very important."

She shrugged sadly and raked her fingers through her hair. "Maybe he did a story that involved it. I don't know. I have never heard him mention the place before."

Jarod looked over her shoulder at the closed door. "Then I need to speak with him."

"He doesn't want to speak with you," she said, matching his movements as he rose to his full height. "He wants you out of our house. I'm sorry."

"I am, too," he sighed. "I promise, if I had known that your husband had knowledge of the Centre, I would never have let you, or him, become involved in our situation."

"How could you know?" she smiled. "I didn't know."

"It was my responsibility to find out, to make sure you were not already on the Centre's radar, before I sent my mother and Sydney to you. Because I failed to do so, I may have made the two of you targets," he admitted softly. "I want to try to make it right, Emma, and to do that, I must speak with Mike. I must know what he knows."

* * *

"What do you mean, they got away?" 

"What part did you not understand?" Alex growled. Moving in front of the fire, he slowly removed his jacket and tossed it across the arm of the sofa. "The house was empty when we arrived. We searched it, while we waited but there was no sign of the scrolls."

"How could the house have been empty? When you called in, you said that you saw Jarod and Miss Parker."

"I did," he nodded, turning back to the fire. "But, right after I spoke with you, they left for a walk. Hand in hand."

"Interesting."

Alex grinned darkly as he stared at the flames. "After about two hours of waiting, I sent Victor out to look for them." He turned to face the other man and scowled. "By the way, he's not that bright, is he?"

"Never mind about Victor. Tell me what happened. How did you break your arm?"

"Jarod," he growled, absently running his good hand over the fresh cast. Pivoting away from the fire, he moved to the sofa and removed his hiking boots. "Jarod was hiding in the basement. I found him, after Victor was gone."

"Jarod was hiding? That doesn't sound like him. Are you sure . . .?"

"Who is telling this story, Cox? You, or me?" he snapped. When the older man stiffened and his mouth became a thin line, Alex nodded in satisfaction. "He was hiding behind an armoire. We fought. He broke my arm with a two by four and knocked me unconscious. When I came to, he was gone."

"And where was Victor through all of this?"

"Upstairs, unconscious," he sighed. "He claims he was about to capture Jarod and Miss Parker when someone ambushed him. From his description, it sounds like the Major."

"Major Charles is involved now?" the man grinned. "Excellent."

"I'm glad you're so pleased," Alex grumbled.

"Don't you see? If he is here, then his children must be with him."

"I hate to burst your bubble, but Victor didn't see anyone else."

Crossing his arms, Cox paced the length of the room, considering the implications of Major Charles coming to his son's rescue. Shaking his head, he waived a dismissive hand at Alex and smiled. "Just because Victor didn't see them, doesn't mean they aren't here."

"It doesn't mean that they are, either," the man pointed out.

"But, if they are . . ."

"Make up your mind, will you? You're giving me a headache. Are we going after Margaret and the scrolls, or are we going after Gemini and Emily?"

Facing Alex with a wide grin, Cox said, "I do not see any reason we can't go after it all."

* * *

When Jarod entered, Mike was at the window, staring at the street. 

"The cars are gone," he said, without turning around. "They've been taken to the police station for questioning."

"I know."

Letting the curtain drop into place, he faced the Pretender as Jarod began moving around the room. His eyes scanned the framed articles so quickly, Mike wondered if he was actually reading the words.

"Very impressive," he said, motioning toward the mounted stories as he faced the other man. "I would like to read more of what you've written."

"I want you out of my house."

Jarod sighed and moved to the upholstered chair in front of the desk. "I know."

"Now."

"As much as I would love to accommodate you, Mike, we need to talk," he replied. "You need to tell me what you know about the Centre. It is the only way I can determine what measures are needed to keep you and Emma safe."

The reporter's face darkened at the words. Circling the desk, he stood in front of the still sitting Pretender and glared at him. "I am perfectly capable of keeping my wife safe. All I need is for you and your friends to get out of my house and leave us alone."

"Thirty minutes ago, I would have agreed with you. Thirty minutes ago, I did not know you and the Centre had already crossed paths." When Mike dropped his arms and turned away, Jarod stood and, in a calm voice, said, "Tell me what happened, Mike. I want to help."

"And, why should I trust you?" he dared, glaring at the Pretender over his shoulder. "For all I know, you are one of them and this is one big, elaborate test."

Jarod frowned. In the silence that followed, Mike shook his head and, keeping his back to the other man, stepped away. "Please, leave, Jarod."

"When I was a child, the Centre took me from my family," he murmured, as Mike dropped tiredly into the seat behind the desk. When the man looked at him, his eyes widened in shock, the Pretender continued in a soft but gravelly voice, "They isolated me so they could train me to be a Pretender. I can become anyone I want, with enough information, but, until a few years ago, I had no idea who I was."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Jarod slowly returned to the chair opposite Mike. "Because, before I can expect to tell me your story, it is only fair that I share mine."

"What if, after you've told me, I decide not to share?"

The Pretender smiled sadly. "I would not be telling you this, if there was the remotest possibility of that happening."

Sitting back, Mike took a deep breath and released it slowly, his fingers simultaneously digging into the leather arms of the chair. When his lungs were emptied, and his grip relaxed, he locked eyes with Jarod and murmured, "Okay, I'm listening."

* * *

"It's snowing again." 

Emily looked up as her brother kicked the door closed behind him and crossed to the fireplace. Dumping an armload of wood beside the hearth, he chose two large logs and threw them into the flames before pulling off his gloves.

"Is it coming down hard?"

The young man shook his head. "No, it's just flurries right now."

"But, it will make the roads slick," the Major interjected as he moved toward the window to watch the falling snow.

Emily glanced at Drew, then stepped behind her father. "They're all right, Dad."

"I hope so."

"Jarod is an excellent driver," Broots offered. "He raced at Indy once."

The Major glanced over his shoulder at the balding man, but said nothing. When he felt his daughter slide her hand around his, he sighed and shifted his eyes to hers. "They should have been back by now. Something is wrong."

"We don't know that, Dad."

"Em is right," Drew interjected, moving beside his sister. "If something was wrong, we would have heard. Jarod would have gotten word to us."

"Don't borrow trouble," Emily warned her father, as he opened his mouth to speak. "They are not that late. Broots and Debbie have only been here twenty minutes."

"Twenty five," the Major corrected.

She smiled and, with her hand still wrapped around his, crossed into the main room of the cabin. "Okay, twenty five. The point is, Jarod is more than capable of taking care of himself."

"And he has Miss Parker to help him," Drew offered.

"I'd feel much better if I were with him," the Major replied, lowering himself to the couch.

"No, you wouldn't," Emily countered, firmly. "I know you. If you were with Jarod, you would be worrying about me and Drew."

"You are my children," he growled. "I will always worry about you."

"Well, you can't protect everyone, Dad. You have to start trusting that we can take care of ourselves."

The man looked from his daughter to the table, where Broots was sitting with Debbie. "My daughter makes it sound so easy, doesn't she?"

Broots smiled and looked from the Major to Emily, his eyes finally resting on Debbie. "Until they have kids of their own, they will never understand."

* * *

Jarod found that telling his story was not as easy as it should have been. Over the years, he had related parts of his history to a variety of people but this was the first time he had not only told everything but agreed to answer questions. His emotions got the best of him when memories of his abduction, Kyle's death and his relationship with Sydney and Miss Parker were questioned but, in each case, Mike was patient. When his relationship with his family was questioned, however, the Pretender found himself incapable of answering. 

"I was separated from them for so long," he admitted, "I honestly don't know which of my emotions, as it pertains to them, are real and which are carried over from childhood fantasies."

"But you trust them?"

Jarod smiled shyly and nodded. "I know it sounds naive, but they are my family. I have to trust them."

Mike stared at him for a long moment then, stood and turned toward the window. "About eighteen months ago, I began researching a piece about the military and the US intelligence network. The deeper I dug, the more I found that the decisions that were made, and the tactics that were being developed, were based on information from highly paid consultants. I wanted to know who those consultants were and why they were so trustworthy."

"I doubt that information was easy to uncover."

"And you would be right. But, like you, I am very good at what I do, Jarod," he growled, facing the man. When Jarod nodded apologetically, Mike took a deep breath and continued in a calmer tone, "It took me a number of months to finally dig up the name 'The Centre' and find out where they were located. I believed that, once I had that information, everything else would fall into place."

Knowing the kind of security and secrecy that cloaked the place he'd spent most of his life, Jarod said, "It wasn't as easy as you anticipated, was it?"

"No. The more roadblocks I hit, though, the more determined I became. It was like an obsession and, no matter what information I turned up, it wasn't enough."

Jarod frowned. "What did you turn up?"

"At first, it wasn't much. I discovered the names of a few Board Members and low level employees. From there, I found a connection to organizations overseas that did similar consulting work for other governments," Mike told him. "It wasn't until I discovered the other clients and kinds of information being provided that I began to feel a sense of urgency."

The Pretender shifted uncomfortably in his chair before finally pulling himself to his full height. "How did you get the information, Mike? The Centre has a very advanced security system protecting their computers and . . ."

"I had informants. People who had been inside."

"Your informants were employees of the Centre?"

Mike shook his head. "No. I couldn't get any of them to talk to me. My snitches were inside our government as well as inside some of the other organizations that worked with the Centre."

"How many were there?"

He stared at Jarod for a long moment then, as if he were breaking himself from a trance, turned away. "It doesn't matter."

"Mike, it does matter," Jarod insisted, grabbing the man by the arm. "Anyone who goes against the Centre . . ."

"They're all dead."

Jarod's eyes widened and, as they did, his grip on Mike's arm loosened. "All of them?"

Mike nodded. "At the time, I told myself that it was up to me to make sure their deaths were not for nothing. Pompous, huh?"

Jarod had no idea what to say. "Mike, what happened to the story?"

"I started receiving threats from every branch of government as well as some particularly horrific ones from anonymous sources," he continued softly, ignoring the question. "But I could not let go of the story. I had documents, videos, even hand written memos from high ranking officials giving orders to engage the Centre on a variety of sensitive situations."

"Mike, what happened to the story?" Jarod pressed.

"I didn't know about the experiments or . . what did you call them?"

"Simulations."

He nodded. "That's it. Simulations. I didn't know how the Centre was gathering its intelligence but my gut told me it wasn't on the up and up. I kept digging until I found someone who could tap into the Centre's archives."

"You did what?"

He heard the fear and surprise in Jarod's voice and smiled. "I told you I was good at what I do."

"Mike, this isn't a joke. What happened to your notes? What happened to the story?"

"I killed it," he said quietly.

The Pretender let out a soft sigh and nodded. "You killed it to protect Emma."

Jarod frowned as Mike returned to the chair behind the desk and sat down. He watched, silently, as the man shakily rubbed the stubble that had formed on his jaw before bringing his eyes to Jarod's. "No. Not really. At the time, I thought I could keep Emma safe from anything."

"Then, I don't understand. Why did you kill the story?"

* * *

Lyle said nothing as he entered the police station. With a uniformed officer on each side of him, he let them lead him to the back of the station and sat quietly at the desk they indicated. He watched the activity around him, his men being ushered to chairs along the wall to await their turn at being processed. 

"Name."

He smiled at the man behind the desk. "Lyle."

"Is that your first name or your last name?"

"_Mister_ Lyle."

The officer raised an eyebrow at his prisoner then shrugged and typed the information into the computer.

"I need to make a phone call."

"After we're done here, you will be allowed . . ."

"Now," he growled. When the man looked up from the keyboard, Lyle offered the most feral of smiles and added, "It's important that I make the call now."

* * *

Miss Parker stopped pacing the moment the door opened. Her arms dropped to her side as Jarod and Mike appeared at the threshold. 

"Get your things," the Pretender ordered softly. "We're leaving."

Her eyes darted from Jarod to the man beside him and then back again. "What happened in there?"

"I'll tell you later," he promised, as Emma slid her arms around Mike's neck. "Right now, we need to get out of here."

She looked at him uncertainly, then followed Mike with her eyes as he approached the detectives. Less than two minutes later, the men were sliding into their coats and out the door.

"What happened in there?" she repeated.

Jarod smiled. "Don't worry about it, now. Let's just go before something else happens."

TBC

Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-P

Note: I think most of you have been reading my stuff long enough to know that I don't dole out answers easily or quickly. But, I promise, as with all my stories, you will get answers eventually. Hope you enjoyed the chapter. ;-P


	26. Chapter 26

A/N: On 2-3-07, this story will celebrate its 3rd anniversary and it's still not complete. For the record, I never intended this piece to get quite so long or complex, however it seems my muse had a different idea. I still have a few (?) Chapters to write before it's over. I will do my best to post them as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, my muse gets bored easily - which is why I seldom finish one story before moving on to another - and RL must always take precedence. Not sure who wrote that rule, but I'm sure it's out there in the universe somewhere ;-)

Anyway, thank you to everyone who has been patient enough to continue reading and reviewing. You are the only reason I haven't completely given up on "Guilty" (not to mention "Retribution" or "One Step Back"). I hope you enjoy this chapter.

Disclaimer in part 1

**Guilty  
**by imagine

Part 26/?

He shot one last look at the house before sliding into the driver's seat and twisting the ignition key. The motor was cold and its normal hum was infected by a high-pitched whine. Pressing on the pedal to his right, he forced more gas into the line then slid from the car, letting it heat up as he moved toward the rear.

As he approached, she slipped her fingers under the rim of the lid and pushed it open, blocking her from view for only a second. The moment he was standing beside her, he took the bags she held and carefully arranged them in the empty compartment without a word. Despite the thoughts that were running through his mind, he could find nothing comforting to share.

When he felt the weight of her stare, he looked at her and forced a reassuring smile. The woman took a deep breath, nodded, but said nothing as she moved to the front of the car. Frowning, he looked at the two backpacks then at the laptop that were loaded into the trunk before slamming the lid closed. Even if those few items became the only possessions in the world, they would survive. He didn't need any of it, as long as she was safe.

Things were not supposed to go this way, he thought as he moved toward the front of the car. I was supposed to have had more control.

"I'm sorry," he murmured as he slid into the driver's seat. "I should have told you about . . ."

"Yes, you should have but, honestly, it wouldn't have mattered," she interrupted, offering him the same reassuring smile he had offered her moments before. "You did the only thing you could have done. I would not have tried to change your decision."

"I thought I was protecting you."

"I know." Her hand slid over his as it rested in his lap. "You were. You did."

His fingers automatically slipped through hers but he shook his head and averted his eyes. Looking through the still icy windshield, he stared at the falling snow. "If I had, we wouldn't be doing this, now."

"You don't know that," she reprimanded. "I honestly cannot tell you that if I had known I would have done anything different. I would have still tried to help him."

He laughed softly and, after a moment, looked at her. "So, this is really all your fault."

Sitting back in her seat, she raised an eyebrow and stared at him. Though the smile was barely tugging at her lips, it was evident in her eyes and her voice took on a firm but playful tone. "After all the years we've been together, Mike, you should know that it is never my fault."

* * *

Without sliding his arm from where it was draped around his mother's shoulders, Jarod twisted in the seat to look out the back window. When the headlights came to life and the car began idling toward the Suburban, he nodded to himself and turned forward. As he did, he heard the engine start and felt the vehicle pitch slightly as Miss Parker drew the gearshift into drive. 

"Keep it at - or below - the speed limit, Parker," he warned genially. "We don't want to lose them."

She locked eyes with him through the rear view mirror but said nothing.

Sitting back in his seat, Jarod shot the woman a grin but kept his tone serious as he added, "Nor do we want to attract the attention of any more members of the local law enforcement."

In response, Miss Parker narrowed her eyes then shifted her attention to the road. As she released the brake, and the vehicle slowly rolled away from the curb, Jarod glanced over his shoulder and watched as the car behind them did the same.

"Why didn't you just tell them to drive with us?"

"They need time alone," he replied, looking at his mother. "Running from the Centre has become second nature for us. It's new to them. They need time to adjust."

She hesitated before asking, "Exactly how long to expect this road trip to take?"

Jarod saw the twinkle in his mother's eye before he heard the humor in her voice. The first made him relax, the second made him smile broadly and squeeze her shoulder. "They will be all right, Mom. We will all be."

Unaware that the woman beside him was watching his reaction to the mother and son in the backseat, Sydney let his eyes linger a little too long on the Pretender. When Jarod pressed his lips to the top of Margaret's head and sighed contentedly, the psychiatrist drew his gaze forward. Miss Parker glanced at the man, then at the reflection in the mirror. For the first time in hours, Jarod seemed happy and she knew it was because his mother was, once again, in his arms.

Though she did not want to take away Jarod's joy, she suddenly felt a fierce loyalty to Sydney and an urge to protect the older man's feelings. After all, regardless of the circumstances that had brought them together, the man she referred to as 'Freud' had done a damned good job of protecting Jarod over the years. He did not deserve to be discarded as easily as an old sweatshirt, now that Jarod had been reunited with his blood relations.

"So, Jarod," she barked, glaring at the man in the mirror until he met her gaze, "what happened between you and Mike? Why are we suddenly including him and Emma in our little traveling show?"

The brightness in the dark eyes that looked back at her seemed to fade as soon as her question was voiced. The tension in his neck and jaw returned and, though his arm was still arranged protectively around his mother, Miss Parker saw Jarod wince.

"_Well_?"

His expression hardened at her soft demand. "A little over a year ago, Mike began investigating the Centre and its connection to both domestic and foreign governments."

She waited, expecting him to continue after a few seconds. When he was silent, Miss Parker shot him a quick, impatient glance. "_And?_"

"And he discovered things he shouldn't know."

"I'm in no mood for twenty questions, Jarod," she warned, when he paused to collect his thoughts. "What did he turn up?"

"Information about the Pretender Project, for one."

The silence was as thick as it was sudden. As the words sunk in, Sydney shifted in his seat so that he could face Jarod. "What, exactly, does he know?"

"I'm not sure," the Pretender admitted. "We didn't have time to discuss it at length but he definitely has the basic concept."

Margaret gripped her son's hand. "Does he know that you are . . .?"

Jarod sighed. "I think he suspects."

"How is that possible?" she demanded. "How could he . . .?"

"Mike is very good at what he does," he replied simply. "He was investigating a report about the consultants who work for the governments and stumbled upon the Centre's name. The more he tried to get information about them, the more roadblocks he encountered, the more determined he became."

"You must have misunderstood," Miss Parker insisted. "The Centre security system is unrivaled. There is no way he could have . . ."

"It seems that Emma's husband is a very resourceful man. So resourceful that he began to receive threats on his life from some very high-ranking officials - as well as some anonymous sources."

When each of his companions averted their eyes, Jarod recognized their need to digest his words and decided to honor the silence.

Miss Parker's hands tightened around the steering wheel. Though the mirror only gave him a view of her crystalline eyes, he knew that the woman was chewing on her lower lip. It was a habit she had formed as a child, a tell that betrayed the fact she was in deep concentration.

His eyes slid from Miss Parker to Sydney. Though his mentor was turned toward the back seat, his head was lowered and his right hand was thoughtfully stroking the side of his face. Again, Jarod did not need a full view of the man's face to know that deep lines of worry had spread across his forehead.

When he felt movement beside him, Jarod dropped his gaze to his mother. Leaning forward, she slowly slid her fingers through her hair, and allowed a soft sigh tp escape her lips. Instinctively, he gently laid his hand on her back, hoping to offer her comfort but, when her hazel eyes looked at him, over her shoulder, Jarod felt his heart drop. Neither her movements or her expression meant anything to him; he saw nothing he could categorize as concern, worry or, for that matter, indifference. Unlike Miss Parker and Sydney, he did not have enough experience interpreting his mother's reactions.. Though he knew she understood the gravity of what he had told them, he had no idea what she was thinking, or feeling.

"You said, for one," Miss Parker murmured, drawing Jarod's thoughts away from the woman beside him.

"He knows about the Gemini Project, too."

"Gemini?" Margaret repeated, looking between her son and the brunette. "What is the Gemini Project?"

* * *

Who was on the phone?" 

"Lyle."

His eyes widened briefly, at the sound of the name, then immediately narrowed suspiciously. "What did he want?"

"It seems the Chairman's son, and his men, have been taken in for questioning," the man smiled. Sliding into his dark wool coat, he retrieved a pen from the inside pocket and moved to the desk at the far end of the room.

"Where are you going?"

"I will be back in about an hour," he replied as pulled out a pad of legal paper and ripped the corner from the top page. Quickly writing across the remnant, he handed it to the man. "In the meantime, I need you to send Victor and Jenna to this address. Lyle claims that Jarod and his mother were both at the scene. I want the placed searched thoroughly and interviews done with anyone who might have seen them leave, Alex. Is that understood?"

Glancing at the scribbled address, Alex scowled at the other man. "I repeat - where are you going?"

"To bail Lyle out."

"And then what?"

Continuing on to the porch, he took the steps in rapid succession as he replied over his shoulder, "We bring him up to speed, of course."

"You're kidding, right?"

Mr. Cox stopped at the door to his vehicle and turned to face the other man. Bathed in nothing but moonlight, his pasty skin had an strange glow but Alex refused to be intimidated. With his arms crossed over his chest, he held the eerie gaze, silently demanding an answer.

"For the record, Alex," the man finally replied, "I do not like to be questioned and I never kid."

* * *

"I have another son?" she whispered.

Jarod took a deep breath and nodded. Still unsure of what her reaction meant, he smiled haltingly and added, "His name is Drew. He is waiting for us at the safe house."

Her eyes widened as they found his. "What?"

Though her words were still barely a whisper, Jarod heard her disbelief and, for the first time, he was certain he saw confusion in her eyes. It was the first real emotion he had been able to identify since leaving Mike and Emma's house and, though he felt guilty about it, Jarod was relieved.

"Drew is waiting to meet you," he promised with a secure smile. "He is very anxious."

"I . . . I don't understand. How . . .? You left him alone? There are Centre operatives everywhere and you left him alone?"

This time, he heard her concern for the boy and Jarod through a quick glance toward Miss Parker. Seeing the brunette's release a heavy breath, he smiled inwardly, knowing he had not been the only one who had picked up on his mother's fear.

"Jarod, answer me." Sliding her hand to his face, she brought the dark eyes back to her and asked, "How could you have left him alone? You should never have come after me if . . ."

"He is not alone, Mom," Jarod assured her, taking both of the woman's hands in his. "Drew is safe. He's with Dad and Emily."

Once again, her eyes widened at his words. Abruptly pulling herself from his grip, she ordered, "Stop the car."

"What?"

"Stop the car, Miss Parker. Now."

She looked at the Pretender then at the woman making the demands, her features hardening when they met the lighter eyes. "Like hell I will. We are only about ten minutes from . . ."

Ignoring the brunettes's protests, Margaret faced her son. "Jarod, tell her to stop. He is a reporter. We can't lead him to the others. I know you trust him, Jarod, but, you said yourself, Mike and Emma have never been on the run from the Centre."

Jarod shook his head, his eyes searching his mother's for some kind of explanation. "I don't understand. Why are you so upset?"

"Why are you so calm?" she hissed, pulling further away from him. "We mean nothing to them. What is to stop them from handing over Drew, your sister and your father, to the Centre, to save themselves?"

"No. Mom, they would not . . ."

"How do you know? Why are you so willing to take the chance?" she hissed. Then, glancing at Miss Parker, she repeated her earlier demand, "Stop the car, Miss Parker. Now."

"Mom, calm down."

"I will not calm down. Jarod, you have no idea the things I've done to keep _you_ safe, over the years. I do not regret any of it but, I promise, I will not let you jeopardize the rest of our family."

"All right, that's enough!" Miss Parker barked. Pulling the vehicle to the side of the road, she angrily shifted the car into drive and turned to face the other woman. She didn't need to see Jarod's expression to know his mother's words had hurt him. "Who the hell do you think you are, Lady? Have you completely lost your mind? Jarod would never . . ."

"Miss Parker, please."

Jarod's voice was soft but, in the small, confined area of the vehicle, it seemed to vibrate in her ears. Her words faded, mid sentence, as she turned to stare at him. His eyes were glistening and his face was soft, but when he looked at her, the Pretender managed a slight nod of reassurance and a deep breath before turning back to the older woman. Before he could speak, however, Margaret disconnected her seat belt and pushed open the door.

"Mom!"

Following her lead, Jarod, Miss Parker and Sydney exited the Suburban as Margaret hurried toward the car that held Emma and Mike. Parked only a few feet away, the couple watched the rapid approach, unsure of what it meant.

"Mom, wait!" he growled, grabbing the woman by the arm as she started to move between the two vehicles.

She struggled to be released but Jarod easily turned the woman to face him. He held her tightly with both hands, ignoring her small cry of discomfort as he insisted, "You can trust them. Mike killed the story he was writing, not because of the threats made to him or Emma, but because of the threats made against us."

"Against us? Jarod, he's lying to you. He's seeing an opportunity for a story and . . ."

"No! Mom, please, trust me. I would never let anyone hurt a member of our family. Why don't you know that about me?"

Margaret said nothing as she stared at he son. The light but quickly falling snow laced his hair, spotted his eyelashes and seemed to outline and soften the lines of his shoulders, but his grip reminded her of his strength. He was not the little boy she'd helped to build a snowman. He was not the child who used to took such pleasure making snow angels.

She inhaled sharply, filling her lungs with the thin, cold air as her eyes darted over his shoulder to where Miss Parker and Sydney were standing, watching her son protectively. Suddenly, it was as if she were back at her cabin, seeing him for the first time. Only, this time, she was seeing him - accepting him as a man, not desperately trying to reconcile him to the child she'd lost.

Jarod was a man. His face was filled with the same frustration she'd seen at her cabin, when he'd first asked her to leave with him. His voice was tinged with the same fear she'd heard when he tried to reassure her, moments before their car was forced into the river. No matter how hard she tried, though, Margaret had no idea how to console him.

Distracted by the slam of a car door, she looked to her left long enough to see Mike and Emma emerge from their vehicle. Jarod tightened his grip on her arm, bringing her gaze back to him.

"Why don't you know that about me?" His tone was much softer but distorted by a desperation she had not heard earlier. "Why can't you trust me?"

"I don't know," she admitted quietly.

Though their words were barely a whisper, in the quiet of the snowfall, they may as well have been broadcasted with a bull horn. As soon as they were spoken, Sydney moved to his protege's left side.

"Jarod, your father is waiting," he murmured. Sliding his arm around the younger man's shoulders, he felt the Pretender begin to relax. When the dark eyes met his, he smiled. "We need to go."

His eyes now on his mentor, Jarod released the grip he had on his mother. Pulling himself to his full height, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, while nodding in agreement.

"Thank you, Sydney," he murmured. Hesitantly drawing his gaze from the older man, he looked at his mother for only a moment before turning away. Finding Miss Parker at his right, he kissed her gently on the cheek and whispered, "I'll meet you at the house."

The brunette pulled back far enough to look into his face. "Where are you going?"

"It is late and we are all on edge. I think it is best if I ride with Emma and Mike," he replied. "I can make sure they don't get lost."

She hesitated. "Are you sure?"

He smiled and nodded before taking a step away and adding, "Try not to kill my mother en route. Drew really wants to meet her."

"No promises."

* * *

They heard the cars approaching and moved to the windows moments, in expectation, moments before the vehicles were visible.

"You know the plan," the Major ordered, as he moved to the door. "Stay out of sight until we are sure that this is not a Centre trick."

Though Drew's instinct was to argue with his father, Emily's gentle hand on his arm reminded him to be quiet. Nodding reluctantly, he followed his sister, Broots, and Debbie to the back of the house. With the back door open, he waited, unsure of whether he could actually follow the Major's orders to leave, if Centre operatives were in the vehicles.

In the seconds that passed, it seemed as if they were all holding their breaths. The moment they heard Jarod call out that everything was all right, they raced to the front of the house, and found the Major and Margaret locked in a desperate embrace. Drew glanced at his sister and saw the smile emerge through her tears. He felt Broots pat him on the shoulder in celebration but, by that time, his eyes had moved to Jarod.

Standing at the edge of the small crowd, the Pretender was standing behind two people Drew did not recognize. His expression was unreadable but his stance did not mirror the confidence Jarod had exuded earlier. Though his eyes never left the emotional reunion of his parents, Jarod did not appear to be feeling the same joy as Emily.

"Come on," Emily whispered, tugging on his arm. "I want to introduce you to Mom."

Drew glanced at his sister but, as she pulled him to where Margaret was waiting, his gaze returned to Jarod. He saw Sydney direct the strangers toward the house but, instead of moving to center of the property, where the family was gathering, Jarod stayed where he was. Miss Parker was beside him, her arm was wrapped loosely around the sleeve of Jarod's peacoat but her hand had a tight grip on his..

"You must be Drew."

The sound of the woman's voice drew his attention from his brother. Smiling shyly, he nodded and, closing his eyes, allowed the woman's hug to swallow him. Suddenly, the anxiety he had been feeling about meeting her faded. His arms slid around her waist and, when she kissed him on the cheek and whispered that she wanted to know everything about him, Drew felt a warmth spread from his gut. He knew he was still smiling when he pulled away and, when he finally opened his eyes, he felt the moisture of the tears he had suppressed.

"I am glad to meet you," he murmured, formally.

She laughed and hugged him again. This time, however, Drew's eyes remained open. They traveled to where Jarod was still standing and, when the Pretender dropped his gaze and moved toward the house, the young man felt his heart drop.

TBC

feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)


	27. Chapter 27

A/N - Thanks to everyone who is still reading this story.

Disclaimer in part 1

Guilty  
by imagine

Part 27/?

She had no intention of breaking the solitude he had so consciously sought out. Silently, she lowered herself onto the bench that was pushed against the house and stared silently at the man's back. Illuminated by nothing but the moon and the falling snow, he was hunched over, his elbows resting on the edge of the railing. His attention seemed trained on the yard that was quickly being blanketed with a fresh layer of white but there was no doubt in her mind that he knew she was there.

Smiling to herself, she admired the rippling of the muscles in his legs and buttocks as he straightened. His weight shifted from one leg to the other and, slowly, his arms spread to his side. Using his bare hands to grip the wooden handrail, Jarod rose to his full height. Even from where she sat, though, she could see the falling temperature had begun to take its toll on the exposed skin of his hands but, before she could comment, he curled them into fists and hid them in the depths of his jacket pockets.

"You don't need to sit here, with me," he said softly. "I'm all right."

She smiled to herself and pulled her coat tighter. "Who said I was out here because of you? Maybe I like watching the snow fall, too."

Turning half way, he looked at her, then shook his head and redirected his gaze back to the yard. "You don't do cold well, Parker. Go inside. There are blankets, a fire, warm drinks . . ."

"And your family," she finished.

"Yes," he nodded, turning back toward the yard, "And my family."

She frowned, unsure of how to categorize the tone of his voice. It wasn't sad, nor was it annoyance, but somewhere in between. "It's been a long day, Jarod. Come inside."

"Go ahead, without me. I'll be along in a little while," he replied quietly.

"You've been out here for over an hour."

Jarod bowed his head thoughtfully, but did not face her or make a comment.

Rising from the bench, Miss Parker wrapped her arms around her mid-section and moved to his side. With only the outsides of their arms touching, she whispered, "Talk to me."

Shaking his head, he took a deep breath. "There is nothing to talk about."

"Of course there is. You have been waiting your whole life for the moment when your entire family would be gathered in one place. Why are you out here, by yourself?"

Flexing the muscles in his back, he pushed at the inside of his jacket pockets, bringing the wool coat closer to his body.

"Do you realize that, a little over a week ago, I was standing on a porch very similar to this one with her?" he asked, his eyes still trained on the falling snow. "I was so frightened of disappointing her and of not being the son she wanted me to be that I was willing to do almost anything to please her."

"So, this _is_ about you mother," she muttered bitterly. "I should have known."

Continuing as if he had not heard her comment, Jarod said, "She wanted me to leave without her. She told me that it wasn't safe for us to be together. Maybe I was being selfish. Maybe I was being arrogant but leaving her was the one thing I could not do, regardless of her wishes."

"You wanted your family to be together," she reminded him. "No one could fault you for that."

Though he did not face her, he smiled sadly. "So many things would have been different, if I had just done what she wanted."

"Different isn't always better."

Nodding, Jarod took a deep breath and straightened his stance. She waited for a response, watching him stare blindly at the trees in the distance for almost a full minute before slipping her hand into the pocket of his jacket and gently laying her hand over his fist.

"If you had left without her, your family would not be whole."

"My family is far from whole, Parker," he murmured. His pocketed fingers opened and gently slid between hers. "We are together, thanks to you, but we are still strangers. Right now, the only bond we share is our hatred and fear of the Centre."

"It's a start."

"This is not how I imagined it would be," he admitted. "Our conversations are strained, unless they are about the Centre, and our smiles are too hesitant – too unsure. For as long as I can remember, I believed that, somehow, my family had a connection that the Centre could not break. It may have been a childish dream, but I wanted my family reunion to be perfect. I wanted our reunion to mean that everything was all right and we were safe."

"That's why you were so angry, and hurtful, when you found out I contacted your father."

There was no question but Jarod nodded slightly.

"Nothing is perfect, Jarod, but everything _**will**_ be all right. You, of all people, should know that nothing worthwhile comes easy. It takes time." Despite the nod, sheepish smile and the search of her face, she felt Jarod's hand shift in hers. Afraid he would pull away, she increased her grip. "And I have seen you with your parents, Jarod. You do have a strong connection."

"It is not as strong as it appears. The only reason my mother got in my car that day was because she had no choice. I refused to leave without her."

"You did not force her into the car, Jarod. There is always a choice and your mother made the one she thought was the best."

"No. She was appeasing me as if I were a small child who was insisting on crawling into bed with her."

Miss Parker frowned. "I don't understand."

"Children who fall asleep in their parents bed seldom wake up in the same place. During the night, they are carried into their own bedroom."

"So?"

"So, in the morning, instead of waking up where they fell asleep – between the two people they feel safest with in the world – they find themselves in their own rooms, alone.," he explained, sadly. "My point is that, even if we had not been separated by the accident, at some point, I would have awoke and discovered my mother was gone. She did it to Emily. She would have done it to me, eventually, as well."

Reaching up with her free hand, she stroked the side of his face, gently pulling his lips to hers. The kiss was brief but tender and, when it was complete, Jarod released a soft sigh.

"You are not alone," she whispered. "You have a house filled with people who care about you."

"I know."

"But it's not enough, is it?" she sighed, stepping back. "You need her approval, don't you?"

"She's my mother."

"You met her, for the first time in over thirty years, a week ago. Why are you letting her do this to you? Why are you so willing to take the blame because she is –a- too stupid to allow herself to trust you, and – b – too heartless to keep it to herself?"

"She is not a heartless woman," he snapped, his eyes flashing as glared at her. "I am glad she, at least, felt at ease enough with me to be truthful. Trust has to be earned, Parker. Who should I blame because I haven't been able to do that? Her?"

"Damn straight you should blame her," she hissed. "She should be the one asking for your trust, not the other way around. You just told me that, even if the accident hadn't occurred, she would have ditched you at the first opportunity! Why do you insist on defending her? You almost died because . . ."

"Stop it, Parker," he spat, turning his gaze back on the yard. "I won't have this argument again. My mother did what she thought was best, she did not mean to hurt me."

"She didn't hurt you, Jarod. When your mother left you on that shore, you were already hurt. She is your mother – she should have stayed with you. She should have . . ."

"You are in no position to lecture me on healthy parental relationships."

His sharp tone startled her. Biting back her equally barbed response, Miss Parker sighed and shook her head. He was as upset, confused and defensive about his relationship with his mother as she had always been about hers with her father. She had known that when she came out to talk to him. She had promised herself that she would not taunt or provoke an argument, the way he had done so many times with her. Glancing at the door leading to the house, she took a deep breath and moved behind him.

"Look, for what it's worth," she said softly, "I am glad you refused to leave your mother behind."

Slowly, the Pretender turned to face her, but said nothing.

"Don't look so surprised. I may not care for her, but you do, and that is what matters. Leaving her behind would have torn you apart."

As she spoke, he smiled sadly.

"Besides, if you had, you would never have had that accident."

His eyes narrowed as he stared at her suspiciously. "You sound as if you are happy that I was forced over a bridge into a freezing river."

She shrugged. "I guess I am."

"I see," he drawled. "So, in your book, the fact that I almost died was a good thing."

"No, but if you hadn't, I wouldn't have found you."

"What about Emma and Mike?" he continued, talking over her interruption. "I thought you liked them. Because they tried to help me, they are now on the run from the Centre. Is that . . .?"

Her smile made his words falter, but it was her hand on his chest that caused the Pretender to fall silent. She saw the confusion in his face before he asked, "What did you say?"

"If you hadn't had the accident, Jarod, you and I would not be standing here, together, right now," she told him. Her eyes searched his face then dropped to his hand as it covered the one she'd placed above his heart. "Nothing would have changed between us. I like the progress we've made in our relationship, Jarod."

His face brightened for a moment before suspicion began to fade the gleam in his eyes. "Did you just say you love me?"

Though she didn't break eye contact with the man, Miss Parker tilted her head to the side and narrowed her gaze "Is that really what you heard?"

He smiled and shrugged.

"I said that I like that we're getting closer. I never said that I love you."

"But you do." Moving into her, Jarod pressed his lips to hers. If she was surprised by the move, Miss Parker covered it well, letting him sandwich her between the cold wooden post that supported the roof of the porch and the warmth of his body.

Their tongues met briefly before he slid his mouth to her neck. Her fingers deftly unhooked the buttons of his jacket and, when his hands dropped to the zipper of her jeans, she pulled at his shirt and slipped her arms between the fabric and his skin. A few heart beats later, Jarod was pulling urgently at the heavy denim that blocked his access to her, his mouth and teeth continuing to explore the muscles beneath her jaw.

"Jarod, you . . ."

Startled by the voice, Miss Parker's fingernails pressed into Jarod's flesh and his hands pressed against her buttocks, pulling her closer to him. They became still, but neither made a sound.

"Oh. I'm sorry. I . . ."

Her hands flattened against his skin and Jarod took a deep breath. Slowly, without moving away from the woman, he looked over his shoulder at the younger man.

Still gripping the handle of the door, Drew's gaze immediately shifted from the couple to a spot on the doorjamb. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

Jarod frowned as his brother's tone faded from embarrassment to amusement but, before he could react, Miss Parker buried her head in his shoulder. Her hands slipped below his waist, her fingers spreading across the bulge in his pants as her lips and tongue began to taunt a section of exposed skin just below his neck.

Swallowing hard, Jarod found he could only manage a hoarse version of his own voice as he asked, "What is it, Drew? What do you want?"

"I thought you should know that the others are . . . discussing . . . our situation." Then, quickly turning away, he stepped into the house. A split second before the door closed behind him, he added with a grin, "As soon as you are able, please come inside."

* * *

Lyle said nothing as he moved angrily through the house. Tossing his coat over the back of the sofa, he continued to the freestanding bar and, after perusing the selection of liquor, reached for the bottle of vodka. 

"One of you had better start talking," he warned, pouring the clear liquid into a small glass. His hand hovered a moment over the ice bucket before changing his mind and turning to face the men, tightly holding the drink. "What the hell is going on? How is it that the police had possession of Jarod's DSA's?"

Alex shifted his gaze from Lyle to Mr. Cox and smiled. "They aren't the DSA's."

Lyle hesitated, considering the other man's words. "If the case I saw going into that house did not contain the DSA's Jarod stole when he escaped, then what was in it?"

"The scrolls," Mr. Cox replied simply. Moving to the bar, he ignored Lyle's silent demand for more information and poured himself a Scotch.

"The scrolls," Lyle repeated. "That's impossible. I was on the plane when my father . . ."

"Your father did not have the scrolls when he jumped," the man interrupted. Then, pausing long enough to take a sip from his glass, he added, "We believe that your father killed himself for forgeries created by Jarod's mother."

* * *

"Are they coming?" 

Drew glanced at his mother then shifted his gaze anxiously toward the porch. Sliding his hand from the door, he brought his hand to his mouth and forced a cough, hoping to hide the grin on his face as he moved into the room. "They are . . . um, in the middle of something. They'll be here in a few minutes."

"This is ridiculous," she hissed. Standing she moved toward the door. "Jarod has been out there too long. It's cold. He needs . . ."

"Mom, wait." Stepping in front of the woman, he placed his hands on her arms and shook his head. "Leave them alone. Jarod is fine. He and Miss Parker will be inside in a few minutes. I promise."

Rising from his place on the sofa, the Major moved to his wife's side, but his attention was trained on his younger son. Out of the corner of his eye, the younger man saw his father's approach and, though he did not meet the older man's gaze, or step away from the door, he slowly released the woman.

"Margaret, come sit down," he said, gently sliding his arm around her shoulders. "You heard Drew, Jarod and Miss Parker will be inside in a few minutes. In the meantime, I think it's best if we continue our discussion."

Tensing in his arms, the woman shook her head, but let him guide her to the sofa. "There is nothing to discuss, Charles. Not as long as _they_ are here."

Her gaze slid from Sydney to Broots to Emily and Mike. Though they shifted uncomfortably at her tone, the four adults did not turn away from the woman's accusing stare. Instead, Mike crossed his arms defiantly over his chest, while Sydney shook his head at the woman, in disappointment. Emma and Broots glanced at each other, then at the others before each adopting a defiant stance of their own.

"Mom, I don't know why you are being so insistent about this," Emily interjected. "We are all in the same situation. We . . ."

"We are not in the same situation," she snapped.

"But, we are," Emily insisted. "We are all on the run from the Centre. There is a better chance of all of us getting out of this, safely, if we work together."

"My only concern is the safety of our family."

Drew stepped beside his sister, his eyes darting to where Debbie was standing beside her father. Though he barely knew the girl, he could see her hands balling into fists and knew her anger was rising. There was no doubt that the girl's emotion was being fueled by his mother's hurtful words and, for some reason, despite his desire for acceptance from Margaret; he felt a sudden protectiveness toward Debbie.

"Mom, Emily is right. If you are really concerned about the safely of our family, then you have to be concerned about the safety of those who have helped us get to this point."

"No, I don't," she countered, her harsh gaze falling on Sydney. "They kept me from Jarod. They killed Kyle. They . . ."

"They created me."

Shocked by the young man's soft interruption, Margaret slid her focus to Drew. Moving in front of him, she slipped her arms around the almost six foot man and brought him as close as he would allow.

"You are one of the few good things that came out of all of this," she whispered. "Do not ever believe otherwise."

"If that's the case," he countered, gently pulling back so he could see her face, "then why are you trying to punish the people I trust? Why are you dismissing my feelings, as well as Jarod and Emily's, so easily?"

"I'm not dismissing your feelings," she countered, her eyes widening. "But I am trying to protect you. You have to trust me, Drew, I know what these people are capable of."

"Mom, we know what they are capable of, too. Jarod could have easily disappeared from the lives of Sydney, Broots and Miss Parker the moment he escaped from the Centre, but he has purposely kept them in his life. Because of them, he and Dad were able to rescue me. They are the reason we are together."

"So I should excuse them for the pain they caused you and Jarod and Kyle over the years because they suddenly grew consciences?" She shook her head. "I can't do that."

Stepping completely out of her hold, Drew looked at her sadly. Tears suddenly filled his eyes. "Then you are not the woman I thought you would be. You are not the woman Emily and Dad described to me, so many times."

"No," she sighed, tensing at the softness of his voice. "I'm not. The woman they remember died many years ago. The Centre killed her."

"You're wrong," Jarod said, stepping into the room. "The Centre did not kill her. You have been hiding her, trying to protect her for so long, you are having difficulty trusting that she can handle this situation."

Pivoting away from Drew, she watched Jarod approach, but said nothing.

"You can let her out now," he whispered, softly folding his arms around the woman. "Let us keep her safe. Please. Trust us."

* * *

"How can that be?" he dared. Crossing to the fireplace, he turned to glare at the two men. "I told you, I was on the plane. The Africans authenticated those scrolls. They . . ." 

"They were wrong," Alex said from the sofa. Not bothering to mask the annoyance in his voice, he added, "I read the report that was found at the crash. The tests they did proved that the paper was from the same century, but did not authenticate the ink that was used or the writing style."

"Hell, we were on an airplane, not in a science lab," Lyle shot back. "Did you really expect them to do a detailed analysis?"

"Maybe not, but we have been tracking Margaret's movements for years," Cox interjected, bringing the younger man's attention on him. "We've found a pattern."

"What kind of pattern?"

"She has been within miles of Jarod on several occasions, but never even attempted to make contact," he answered. Then, before Lyle could interrupt, he added, "And, her moves have always put her very close to Centre facilities at times when break-ins were reported."

Lyle scoffed and took a long swallow of his drink. "Is that what you're basing this assumption on? I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Jarod has also infiltrated Centre facilities. It's a family trait."

"Yes, but we have always been able to ascertain Jarod's reasoning," Cox continued. "Margaret's actions have, until now, never been explained."

"If you want an explanation, I will be happy to give you one," the man countered. "She was looking for her family."

"Margaret never accessed any of the files associated with her family," Alex explained. "It took me several days but, after analyzing the data she did access, I can tell you that she was researching the scrolls and their journey from Carthis to Africa to America."

Lyle's brows furrowed for a moment as the other man's words started to make sense. "The scrolls were found on Carthis."

"Only because she put them there."

He glanced at Cox, who nodded his agreement. "Mr. Lyle, according to the data she accessed, the scrolls were removed from Carthis shortly after the Centre was established. Margaret knew this because she had already found the originals."

"Then why wouldn't simply replace them with forgeries? Why transport them to Carthis?"

"Margaret knew that only the Triumvirate was aware that the scrolls had been moved," Alex responded. "Putting the forgeries in the original hiding place of the genuine article was her way thumbing her nose at them. Let me ask you, how many scrolls did your father have when he made his jump?"

Lyle glanced from Alex to Cox, and then back again, before answering slowly, "Three."

"According to my research," the pretender replied, "there are four scrolls. Margaret is either still looking for the last one, or she has all four in her possession and has been waiting until her family was reunited to destroy them."

Lyle retrieved his glass from the mantle and moved back to the bar. He felt the eyes of the other men on him as he poured himself another drink and took a long swallow. When he faced them, he said, "If the scrolls are truly in her possession, she has all the answers. She knows why Jarod and Kyle were taken. She knows why my mother was murdered. She has the cornerstone of the Centre in the palm of her hand."

"And, if we can get them from her," Cox smiled, "so will we."

* * *

Margaret slowly drew away from Jarod and faced Mike. Her expression had softened considerably since the Pretender's arrival, but her eyes still held accusation and distrust. 

"My son told me you wrote an article that would have exposed the truth about the Centre," she told the reporter. "Is that true?"

Mike glanced over the woman's shoulder, at Jarod before nodding. "Yes, but I killed the story. It was never published."

"Why? Were you threatened?"

"Yes, but that was not the reason I killed the story."

She glanced at Emma. "Was your wife threatened?"

"Yes, but I felt I could keep her safe."

"Then, why kill the story? If you really had the kind of information you claim, you could have brought the Centre to its knees."

He sighed and, ignoring the stares of the others in the room, he answered simply, "I started receiving pictures of children I didn't know. They came via email, via the US Postal service, via special messenger, but I was never able to trace them to their point of origin."

She hesitated and, though Mike's gaze was on her face, he saw her posture slump slightly.

"Each of the photos I received was accompanied with a threat against that child and their family. When I traced the photos, I discovered that each of them matched an aged picture of a missing child. Many were taken several years after the child's abductions, indicating many were now adults."

"Did you notify the authorities?"

"No," he said, sadly. "I had nothing to tell them except that I received the photos. The families had all disappeared. The . . ."

"You went searching for these children?" she dared. "You researched them?"

He nodded and took a deep breath, still refusing to break the eye contact the woman had initiated. "I know how and when each of them disappeared. I know who their families were, where they lived, and how most were affected by the kidnappings. I had no proof that these children were still alive, but I was not willing to take the chance that they would be harmed because of me. I killed the story because I could not think of any other way to protect them."

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because everything I ever received is stored on a flash drive. I showed it to Jarod, earlier." He swallowed and glanced at Drew and Jarod before bringing his eyes back to the woman. "Several of the photos are of your sons."

Jarod watched as Margaret moved to the table where Mike's laptop and backpack were piled. She took a deep breath, her hand sliding over the top of the nylon case and, without looking at the reporter, said, "I want to see them."

"Mom, it's late," Jarod murmured, stepping behind her. "You don't need to do this. I saw the photos. They are of me and Kyle, over the years."

"No, Jarod," she replied, looking up at him. "I need to do this. I need to see them."

"So do I," the Major stated firmly, moving to the woman's side.

"Please," he whispered, looking at his father, "don't do this."

"Why? What are in these photos that you don't want us to see, Son?"

"You don't understand. The photos aren't happy, school pictures." His eyes darted from the Major to Sydney, as the psychiatrist moved to his side. "Someone froze frames of DSA footage of me and Kyle during simulations, physical examinations, sitting alone. They sent Mike images to frighten him into compliance. I don't want my parents to see . . ."

A soft hand slid across his back and Jarod turned to find Miss Parker standing behind him. Her eyes were moist as she gently took his face in her hands and kissed him on the lips. "It will be all right, Jarod. Your parents need to know. They need to know what you went through, as much as you need to bury it."

"Parker . . ."

"Jarod, whatever they have been imagining all these years is probably worse than what actually happened," she continued, her voice breaking mid-sentence.

"What if it isn't? What if . . ."

"Trust them," she whispered. "Nothing on that computer is going to change the way they feel about you."

"She's right, Baby," Margaret murmured, stepping to her son's side. "We will always love you. I need to know what happened to you, while we were apart. Please."

Tears were now freely flowing down the Pretender's cheek. "But these pictures are only a small fraction of my life at the Centre."

"Jarod, maybe you should show them the DSA's," Sydney offered. "Maybe it is time your parents saw everything."

TBC

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